Always and Forever
by Trispin Javert
Summary: Although the Clone Wars rage on, Obi-Wan finally opens up to Anakin. Sensing the bond between Anakin and Obi-Wan growing deeper, Darth Sidious takes it upon himself to end Anakin's only anchor to the Light. Obi-Wan finds himself fighting for his life, and Anakin struggles with the ever present Dark. NOT SLASH. AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Farewell, happy fields, where joy forever dwells. Hail, horrors! Hail, infernal world! And thou, profoundest Hell, receive thy new possessor-one who brings a mind not to be changed by place or time_. —John Milton

* * *

Chapter One

Wind gently blew through the tall grass, setting the stalks to swaying and lifting the dried leaves in a whirlwind dance. The gentle rustling of the blades made the only sound in the stillness. Often, people count the beginning of a battle as the calm before the storm, the few silent moments of reflection before all hells breaks loose. Obviously, these people have never truly been through a battle, or at least they had not lived to see the end. For in truth, the silence comes in the form of the bodies littering the ground, in the form of faces stilled—once full of life, with thoughts, feelings, and hopes of their own—echoing the deep hole in the universe where their presence had once been.

Obi-Wan surveyed the ruin and carnage, his blue-grey eyes drifting around to his silent men as they picked their way through the battlefield, gathering the bodies of their fallen brothers. Obi-Wan knew that this was their duty, what they had been raised and trained to do—to fight for a Republic that neither cared nor respected them, that looked on them as expendable. Being raised by the Jedi Order guided to him know that there was no death, only the Force, yet when faced with the dead bodies of men he had commanded, there was a difference between knowing and believing. These men had been under his command, and it was his orders that sent them to their deaths. A Jedi should not feel attachment, but they could mourn the loss of life.

Sorrow and pain simmered their way into his heart, spreading their icy shards, looking for a place to lodge. With one last glance as his fallen troops, Obi-Wan sighed and released his feelings into the Force. The living needed his help more than the dead needed his grieving. With a heart still burdened, he made his way towards his remaining men.

"What's the toll this time, Commander?" Obi-Wan asked Cody, his gaze on the ships lifting the casualties to _The Negotiator_.

Cody stood stiffly, his armor scorched and dented. It had been a costly battle. They may have won, but neither man felt like rejoicing. "We had heavy casualties, sir," the Commander informed his General. "All of Flame Company and half of Ghost Company are gone."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, running his hand over his beard. Such a loss of life. When would this blasted war end? The Jedi were not generals, they were peacekeepers. They were supposed to protect the galaxy, not fight its battles.

A sudden surge in the Force, a bright bonfire of light, alerted Obi-Wan to his former apprentice's approach. As the familiar yellow Eta-II Interceptor set down several hundred feet away, Obi-Wan finally allowed himself a small sight of relief.

While he would be the last to admit it, he often felt . . . concern for his former padawan. Yet concern didn't quite describe the alarmed flutter he would feel when seeing the yellow fighter slip and dodge its way through enemy fire as ships all around it exploded into fiery bursts of light, or didn't describe the warm glow he felt when the two of them shared a small joke that just the two of them understood. Deep down, he knew it was dangerously close to attachment, this feeling he felt, and his thoughts constantly warred with one another on the subject. _It's against the Code,_ the litany of thousands of years of Jedi masters would whisper to him. Yet he also knew there were times he had gladly broken the Code for the young man in question. He had even defied the council, told Master Yoda to his face he would train the boy with or without their approval. Never once did he regret his decision.

 _Well, maybe once or twice_. A small smile crossed his face as he thought of a _few_ difficult times the two of them had experienced together. His padawan—

 _Not padawan anymore,_ he corrected himself. Another small smile flickered across his features, yet the small pang of sadness at memories of what would no longer be surprised him. Anakin had proved his worth to the Jedi time and time again.

In the past, whispers echoed through the Temple, whispers of Jedi doubting his legacy, doubting if he truly was the Chosen One. Yet, now . . . even the nonbelievers began to see the skill, the mastery, the overall raw power the boy contained. No one voiced doubt any longer. However in late night walks and darkened corners Obi-Wan still heard whispers, not whispers of doubt—but of fear.

Yet Obi-Wan trusted Anakin with his life. He knew Anakin felt the same towards him, in the way they would share a tight smile in the heat of battle, or when Anakin would run off on one of his schemes, knowing Obi-Wan would cover for him until he came back or run after to help him. It was a bond that went deep, a golden thread that sang and danced when the two were in perfect unison. Obi-Wan knew what they had was special, and he treasured it. But the internal war he waged with himself kept him from voicing his affection out loud. No, Anakin could never be told. He loved to deeply, he was too willing to sacrifice for the ones he loved, and Obi-Wan did not want to be the one that broke his tenuous allegiance to the Jedi Order.

So instead, Obi-Wan loved him with his gestures, his smile, his teasing, and yes, even his gentle rebukes. His love was shown in the way he stood as the listening ear for Anakin's angry rants, or in how he himself stood up time and again to the Council, impressing upon them the _goodness_ within Anakin that he could see every day. After all, those who really love, love in silence, with deeds and not words.

The object of his musings completed his landing and leapt out of his ship, his blue eyes scanning the battlefield, his face hardening as he took in the destruction. Those blue eyes then searched for azure, the face softening upon finding what he was looking for. He made his way over.

"I leave you alone for a few hours and this happens?" Anakin teased lightly, gesturing to the destroyed and damaged droids littering the field. Yet underneath the teasing, a tight thread of pain and anger slipped through. "This is why we can't have nice things."

Obi-Wan spared his friend a tight smile. "Well, you know how it is. I just like having all the fun."

Anakin smirked back, but then his smile slipped and his face became grave. "Seriously," he asked, his voice low. "How many did we lose?"

Once again, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He did not want to see the look of shock and pain on his former padawan's face when he told him. "All of Flame Company and half of Ghost Company," he said quietly, turning away from Anakin. Still, he could not avoid the feelings of shock and anger vibrating through the Force at those words.

"What? Obi-Wan, that's over 200 men!" Anakin clenched his fists so hard that Obi-Wan imagined he could hear metal and servos creaking in his mechanical hand. "We lost another squadron over Polis Massa two days ago! And what about . . ."

Rounding on his friend, Obi-Wan bit back, "You don't think I know that?" He felt his lips pressing together and crossed his arms over his chest. "These were my men too, Anakin."

Anakin shook his head angrily and turned away from his former master. "Yeah, well, sometimes I wonder if you even think of them as men."

Obi-Wan winced slightly. He knew Anakin felt things deeply, much deeper than any Jedi should. Obi-Wan might mourn the loss of the lives of his men, yet as was the Jedi way—as he had been _trained_ —he released his feelings and carry on, perhaps a little more tired, a little more scarred, but whole.

Anakin, on the other hand, believed he could save the entire galaxy, starting with his own men. Each of their deaths hit him hard. He took it as a personal affront against himself—Anakin Skywalker, the _Chosen One_. How could he be the Chosen One and not be able to save everyone he cared about? What was the point of all his power if he simply had to watch while people died? So while Obi-Wan released his feelings, Anakin pulled them inside, fueling the already burning sun within. No matter how many discussions or arguments they had, Anakin never changed. This both scared his former master and warmed his heart. Anakin would not be Anakin without the passion that made him who he was. Perhaps that was why his men followed him without question—they were more willing to die for a man who would do the same for them and would mourn them if they did not come back.

Yet the burning sun within Anakin scared Obi-Wan as well. There was only so long he could go before the sun could no longer be contained. And Obi-Wan knew whenever— _if_ ever—that happened, he would not want to be the person toward which the supernova known as Anakin Skywalker was directed. Each day, each man lost, each close call chipped and whittled away at Anakin, causing the ever growing rifts to tremble and quake. So Obi-Wan did his best to share his friend's pain, to be there when he needed him, and to glue together the broken cracks slithering across Anakin's soul. Anakin carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, and Obi-Wan did his best to carry Anakin.

Obi-Wan scrubbed a weary hand over his face. He could already feel a headache beginning to pound its way into existence behind his eyes. "Anakin, we are not going to get anywhere by arguing," he sighed, searching for peace, not wanting another argument in the face of so much loss. "We are all tired and on edge. I think the wisest thing to do now would be to go back to the ship and rest, while there is a lull in the fighting."

For a brief moment, it looked like Anakin was going to continue to argue, his lips still pressed together in a tight line. However, the tension slowly eased its way out of his face and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right, Master," he said, gesturing around them. "It's this kriffing war."

Obi-Wan took a step back, feigning shock. "Did I just hear you correctly, my young friend? Did you just say your old master was _right_?"

Anakin rolled his eyes, but felt a smile stealing its way onto his face. "Yeah, well don't get used to it. After all, you did just say we are all tired; the exhaustion must be getting to me." Obi-Wan's answering smile grew a little bigger, and he patted his friend on the on the shoulder. "Well, then I think I prefer an exhausted Anakin then."

Together, they both shared a small chuckle.

Suddenly both comlinks crackled into life. "General Kenobi, General Skywalker, we've got something incoming over the west ridge, something big."

The smiles disappeared, and Obi-Wan sighed. "I guess our work is never done."

With one final shared glance, they both turned and sped toward the incoming storm.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . . It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival._ —C. S. Lewis

* * *

Chapter Two

Anakin cursed as he dodged and deflected another barrage of blaster bolts. The ground beneath him shook with resounding blasts from canons and tanks from both sides, sending spirals of dirt and rocks into the air with each explosion. Wave after wave of battle droids marched mindlessly towards the temporary command base the clones had set up upon first setting foot on Sullust. As many as Anakin sliced, chopped, stabbed or otherwise dismantled, three more seemed to take its place.

 _Where do they keep coming from?_ Sweat dripped into his eyes as he Force pushed away a cluster of droids advancing on him.

The battle _had_ been going well. He had routed the Separatist fleet in space while Obi-Wan had _presumably_ taken care of the ground assault. Apparently Obi-Wan was getting old, as this did _not_ look like the situation had been "taken care of." Anakin smirked. He would have to tease his old—emphasis on _old_ —master about that later, once they actually finished off the remaining droids.

His attention was suddenly taken up by another influx of droids. At each blast from the advancing enemy and each cry of pain from his men, he felt himself grow angrier, his hold keeping his rage in check beginning to slip. These were his _men_ , they were not cannon fodder for the Republic to throw uncaringly at the Separatists.

Another salvo from the battle droids forced him back, the rapid movements of his lightsaber creating a seemingly solid blue shield around himself. Not one bolt could make its way through and many found their way back to the offending droid who dared fire in the first place.

Sending one last bolt back at the droids, he jumped back behind one of the metal barricades many of the clones were using as cover. "What's the situation?" he demanded to Commander Flint, scowling as the bolts flew over their heads.

The Commander spared a brief look at the young general before turning back to his targets. "Sir! We have received word that General Kenobi is clearing his section to the north. After this morning's fighting, it appears there were some large pockets of these clankers still hanging around—that's what we are fighting right now."

Anakin grinned. Looks like Obi-Wan _had_ taken care of most of the droids down here. Still, maybe he didn't know that yet and Anakin could get in a couple jibes about his age . . .

"Sir!" An agitated yell from one of the troopers to his left brought his attention back to the present. "We have three incoming tanks!"

Another grin snaked across Anakin's face, but this one contained something darker hidden in its depths. The blue lightsaber in his hands gave his face almost a sinister look. "Don't worry trooper, I'll take care of those kriffing clankers."

Standing, he turned and rushed toward the advancing death.

It was moments like this where he was truly alive. He didn't just use the Force, he _was_ the Force. It flowed and ebbed through him in a might tide, doing his bidding, following his orders. Yes, he was the Chosen One, and the Force knew it. The power he held, flowing from his fingertips, summoned at his beck and call—its call was insatiable, and he was unstoppable. He took out the first tank right away, Force leaping underneath its lumbering blaster cannon and slicing the barrel off, rendering it useless.

Continuing his momentum, he pulled a grenade from his utility belt. Sliding to a stop next to the second tank, he tossed the grenade under the repulser lifts before back flipping out of range of the blast. The grenade shattered metal and machinery. The tank listed to the left before completely shuddering to a stop.

 _Two down, one to go._

He leapt toward the third tank, landing lightly on the front. But as he lifted his 'saber, a desperate warning resounded through the Force and a soft beeping reached his ears. He barely had an instant to register the sound of an overloading powercell.

"Oh _kriff . . .!"_ In the split second it took to gather the Force around him in a protective buffer the world exploded.

He had a weird sensation of falling, and then blackness claimed his vision.

* * *

He seemed to be flying. Or not flying, floating. He remembered a mission he and Obi-Wan had been assigned years before the war. The planet they had traveled to possessed only half the gravity of most normal planets. Even Obi-Wan, who hated flying and was always believed in "maintaining Jedi decorum," had enjoyed himself that day after completing their negotiation as the two of them leapt through the surrounding fields, feeling as if they could fly.

 _General Skywalker!_

He knew there was a pressing matter he should be attending to, but he liked being able to soar above the ground in the manner. He didn't have to think here, he didn't have to worry. No lives depended on him; he could just be free for a moment. . .

 _Anakin!_

 _Obi-Wan?_ Suddenly he seemed to topple head over heels toward a black hole that opened up under him, falling and falling until he slammed into reality. His own body ached. He could feel rocks digging into his back, and _kriffing hell_ did his head pound. _Probably a concussion._ Suddenly a familiar presence swept across his senses and familiar hands began ghosting over his body.

"Anakin, can you hear me?" Only someone who knew Obi-Wan as well as Anakin did would have heard the worry in his voice.

Finally pulling open his eyes, Anakin winced at the light making his head pound even more. _Yes, definitely a concussion._ Groaning, he turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of his former master's face."Do you think you could not _shout_ at me?"

Obi-Wan's face did not lose the crease between his brows. _He's going to get a permanent crease there. He might even end up looking like Madame Nu._ That thought caused him to snigger slightly.

At this response, Obi-Wan's concern ebbed up a notch. "Anakin, you were caught in an explosion. Please lie still until I can make sure you are alright." His hands moved to rest on Anakin's head and chest in typical healer fashion as he scanned his friend for injuries.

Anakin shifted his weight, trying to move a particularly offending rock under his back. He felt Obi-Wan gently nudge against his mental shields through their bond, and he lowered them to allow him in. He did a quick internal scan himself, feeling Obi-Wan's soothing presence mingling with his own. "I think I'm okay Master. Just a few bumps and bruises."

Obi-Wan continued for a moment more before he was satisfied. Removing his hands he sighed, leaning back on his heels and finally smiled at his former padawan. "Well, while I am usually not grateful for it, I must say thanks to that hard head of yours, I do believe you will be okay."

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Anakin shot a grin at his former master. "See? I knew you cared about me!"

But instead of the customary retort, the habitual spark of dry humor, his mentor froze. It was the barest of moments and if Anakin was not so attuned to Obi-Wan he would have missed it.

Obi-Wan recovered quickly. "Well, someone needs to be around to make sure Artoo doesn't get into trouble. I do believe that droid of yours has a loose wire somewhere." Yet his eyes shifted away from the searching ones of his former apprentice. He instead busied himself with checking Anakin's limbs for shrapnel.

Anakin did not respond, confusion fliting through his mind. He knew his former master. Obi-Wan was always ready with a retort or sharp remark when it came to Anakin. What was different this time? They were not arguing and besides, Obi-Wan was not one to hold a grudge. Suddenly, it hit him like a herd of banthas and his eyes widened in shock.

"You _do!_ " He breathed, hardly able to believe it.

Obi-Wan shot him a glance, and then returned to checking Anakin over for injuries. "Do what?" He could do bland like no one's business. He did not earn the nickname of the Negotiator for no reason.

But Anakin did not earn the nickname of the Hero With No Fear for no reason either. He was walking on uncharted territory, but he needed to know. "You do _care_ ," he grabbed his former master's shoulder in an effort to get him to look at him. "You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, care about me."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Oh don't be so dramatic Anakin, of course I care about you. One does not train a padawan without some semblance of devotion."

"No," Anakin cut him off. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Abruptly, Obi-Wan stood up and moved away from Anakin, running his hand through his beard, his brow furrowed. "Anakin, I . . .," he began, and stopped. Taking a deep breath, he let it out again slowly. His shoulders sat ridged, a tense barrier keeping his feelings at bay.

They had stepped into unknown terrain; the forbidden territory that was emotion. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan's mental shields slam into place, locking out his humanity. Because, Force forbid the great Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi have _feelings_. That was too prosaic, too . . . unJedi.

But it was a lie, and Anakin hated lies. Oh, he knew the Jedi had emotion. Anakin had witnessed his master's silent suffering after the death of Qui-Gon, the way his red-rimmed eyes looked in the morning, the dull grey suffusing the normally brilliant blue. He had witnessed it in the slight slump of his shoulders when he heard the number of casualties sustained in the latest attack. Nevertheless it was locked down, pushed out, ignored or otherwise released. For the briefest of moments, Anakin felt a flare of hatred, not at Obi-Wan, but at the Order that denied emotions and turned them into something dirty, something to be despised, something one would treat like the filth on their boots.

Finally, Obi-Wan turned around and knelt in front of his friend. Taking one more breath he looked up and gazed into Anakin's eyes. "Anakin, please listen to me. Don't interrupt, as I know you are prone to do. Just let me say my piece. Can you do that?" He paused again, gathering his thoughts.

For an agonizingly long minute, Anakin simply looked at his mentor, barely allowing himself to breathe. He waited for the normal rebuff, the refusal to open, for the tightly placed mental shields to remain completely intact.

But that moment passed, and his confusion—and hope—grew. He did not know what he was going to hear, and his heart pounded inside his chest. Anakin knew how religiously his master followed the Jedi Code. When he was feeling particularly unpleasant he sometimes believed that if someone looked up "Jedi Code" they would find next to it a hologram of his former master. Despite his occasional annoyance, he did recognize that all the corrections administered from Obi-Wan concerning the Code that Anakin had resented when he was younger was only because Obi-Wan simply believed them to be true.

Yet Anakin knew he was different, being raised by a loving mother instead of by stoic Jedi did that to a person. He had tried to ignore the feelings of hurt he felt in the past when he would look to his master for praise or approval and would only receive a brisk nod or a tight smile instead. He knew it was not Obi-Wan's _fault_ per se, but all his young self had craved was his master's approval. His resulting resentment and Obi-Wan's confusion lead to many years of a tense and difficult relationship. There would be times when days would pass without the two speaking to each other—Anakin because he believed his master just would not understand, Obi-Wan because he did not know where to begin.

However, something changed after Anakin became a knight. He had longed for that day for years, to finally be on his own, to finally be the Jedi he knew he could be— _without_ someone around to lecture on his every failing. Yet the time came sooner than anyone had anticipated. War does that, rushing so many moments, so many lives disappearing into the dust of time. Dooku had taken Anakin's hand, and with it his childhood.

As was the tradition, all members of the council had gathered to watch as Anakin knelt before his master. He felt excitement coursing through his veins, setting his blood sparking with fire—he was soon to be set free. He looked up to Obi-Wan holding his ignited lightsaber, ready to deftly remove the symbol of his apprenticeship dangling from his scalp. Although it was for the briefest of seconds, Anakin saw a momentary lapse in his composure—an emotion he hardly ever associated with his Master flicker through his eyes; an echo of sadness.

And suddenly, for just a second, Anakin wished for time to stop. His excitement unexpectedly became confusion and not _quite_ regret as he fully comprehended the implications of this ceremony. By becoming Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, he was no longer Anakin Skywalker, Padawan Learner to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He hadn't _minded_ until seeing the flicker of sadness cross his—soon to be former—master's face.

 _Obi-Wan cares._

So now all those memories, remembrances of laughing, of pain, of nightmares, of excitement, of fear, those moments—all spent with each other—would now be just that: memories.

Suddenly, Anakin was not so sure he was ready to give that up.

But time stops for no one and the second passed, rushing on and on as time does. A flick of the wrist, and suddenly the weight from the braid of ten years was gone. Obi-Wan held out the plait and Anakin grasped it, the finality of the act abruptly settling itself upon him. As they bowed deeply to each other, their eyes met, both still grasping the braid.

Obi-Wan smiled, azure eyes shining. As his hand released the braid, he lifted it and for the tiniest of seconds pressed it to the side of his former padawan's face.

 _I'm proud of you, Anakin._

With pride from his master whispering through their bond, Anakin Skywalker knew the universe had finally done something right.

The once rocky relationship had smoothed out into an easy friendship after that. Both men were now equals. Sometimes Obi-Wan forgot and lectured, and sometimes Anakin forgot and sulked. Yet deep down they both knew nothing could take away the bond that they shared.

Despite all this, there were still days Anakin doubted. Oh, he never doubted his former master's loyalty, or doubted that he cared about Anakin, but sometimes he wondered if Obi-Wan ever saw Anakin as more than just a companion, a former student with whom he worked well. Anakin loved Obi-Wan with a fierce love, as the father he never knew, as the brother he always wanted. He knew undoubtedly that Obi-Wan would die for him, but he wondered if it would be out of duty, or out of the relationship the two had built over the years. He believed deep down that Obi-Wan's loyalty to the Jedi Code would never be broken. Still, Anakin dreamed of the day that his former master would finally express what Anakin meant to him.

So he waited with baited breath for the words that would shatter his heart or make him whole.


	3. Chapter 3

_Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?_

—William Shakespeare

* * *

Chapter Three

 _This is not one of my days._

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together as he fought his way through another cluster of battle droids. This was becoming tedious. They had thought all droids had been wiped out in the first invasion, yet new intel reported there were still scattered pockets remaining.

Obi-Wan was not known as a pessimist, yet right now he resisted the urge to sigh. He felt tired, so tired. The war was beginning to weigh on them all. He could see it in his troops faces, when reports of a new mission came through, the looks of fear and resignation, the single thought of _will I be the one who doesn't come back_ filling the room.

Sometimes the weight Obi-Wan bore seemed so heavy. It seemed to press down on his shoulders a little more every day and with each passing battle, his world would seem a little darker and each death a little harder. Subconsciously, he was beginning to believe he would not make it through the war. Anakin was the survivor, the reckless one of the two of them, yes, yet he would survive through sheer will alone.

However that time was not now. Right now, Obi-Wan needed to be strong. Strong for his men, strong for Anakin. He hoped—he _knew—_ that one day this war would end and the Jedi could go back to being keepers of the peace. But until then he had a duty, to his men and to the Republic, to be the General they needed him to be.

So he fought on.

Finally, the sound of discharging weapons and blistering explosions stilled. All that remained were the cries of pain from the wounded. Obi-Wan knelt next to one man, his brow creased as he recognized the wounded man would not live for more than a few minutes. The clone knew it as well, acceptance written across his face. "You did well, Lieutenant," Obi-Wan murmured. "May the Force be with you." With that, he helped ease the man's passing into the Force.

Commander Cody strode rigidly up to the General. His face revealed nothing, yet his dark eyes held his pain at the surrounding carnage. But once a soldier, always a soldier—and he and his men had been born into this life. "Sir, we have received news that General Skywalker is pinned down by enemy tanks over the south ridge. Should we send reinforcements?"

Obi-Wan gently closed the eyes of the man in front of him. He often wondered if the other clones ever shivered at the sight of the dead wearing their face. "Yes, gather half of the men you can and head over to his position," he responded, still crouching by the fallen man. "I will leave now. Leave the rest to gather the wounded."

He stood. Now he could hear the sound of fighting half a klick to the south. Gathering the Force around him he sped in the direction of the sounds. A slight smile lifted his lips. Anakin would not like being saved by his former master for once.

Then suddenly a warning, a rippling premonition in the Force . . .

 _Anakin!_

Staggering, Obi-Wan reached out through their bond, feeling for his former padawan's presence, his own heart thumping, fear snaking its way down his spine. Anakin was there, but his presence, usually blindingly bright, was dulled and lethargic. Obi-Wan knew what that meant; most likely his former apprentice was unconscious.

Cresting the hill, Obi-Wan took in the scene before him. Three Separatist tanks lay in various states of ruin while fragments of battle droids cluttered the rest of the field. His eyes locked on the source of his search.

 _So I was right. The man has a talent for getting himself knocked out_.

Already several clones were moving to aid the young Jedi as Obi-Wan swept in. He could sense through their bond that his former apprentice's wounds were not severe, yet he would not be content until he himself conducted a thorough examination.

"Thank you, Captain," he said to the medic as he knelt beside his young friend. "I will take it from here."

It always amazed Obi-Wan how peaceful Anakin looked when he slept—or, he supposed, was knocked out, depending on the situation. During the war, his very presence commanded attention, his demeanor exuded strength and confidence beyond his years. The strain of combat often twisted his face in a fierce scowl or a worried frown, transforming young into old. War did that to a person.

It was only moments like this that Obi-Wan remembered his former apprentice's true age. A boy who had been thrust into his role as Jedi and General too soon, his childhood stripped away from him before he even had the chance to acknowledge its existence. An unexpected feeling of tenderness suddenly surged within Obi-Wan.

Anakin deserved so much better, so much _more._ Obi-Wan did not know what that was, but he did know he would do anything for this man.

Searching for wounds, his hands ghosted over the still form. "Anakin, can you hear me?" he asked, keeping the worry he felt out of his tone.

Slowly, Anakin shifted and drew open his eyes, wincing at the sunlight filtering through the clouds. "Do you think you could not _shout_ at me?" he whined. He blinked slowly up at Obi-Wan above him, dust coating his hair and lashes. Suddenly he sniggered softly.

Unsure at the sudden change in his friend's behavior, Obi-Wan frowned. Perhaps he was more confused than he originally thought. "Anakin, you were caught in an explosion. Please lie still until I can make sure you are alright."

He rested his hands upon his friend, nudging against their bond in the Force. Their bond ran deep, deeper than most master-padawan bonds, a mutual connection of trust. Anakin allowed him in, assisting in searching and healing.

Always impatient, Anakin shifted his weight as he completed his own cursory scan. "I think I'm okay, Master. Just a few bumps and bruises."

 _He_ would _say that_ , Obi-Wan thought, firmly ignored the young Jedi. He pulled the Force around and through them both, checking and rechecking for wounds. Former padawan or not, Anakin was his charge, his responsibility.

Besides, he did not want it to be him who killed the Chosen One and ruined the prophesy . . . He was known for many accomplishments, but he was content to leave _that_ off the list.

As he searched, he hid his conflicting musings of before concerning his forbidden affection that he felt for his friend. _Focus on the here and now._ He did not want to talk about emotions with his very emotional young friend when he himself did not even know what he felt.

Finally satisfied with Anakin's condition, he gradually withdrew. Standing, he smiled down at the dusty form below him. "Well," he drawled, his eyes twinkling. "While I am usually not grateful for it, I must say thanks to that hard head of yours, I do believe you will be okay."

Still coated in dust and grime, Anakin grinned up at him. "See? I knew you cared about me!"

Immediately, Obi-Wan's heart faltered in his chest. His first thought of _does he know?_ was followed quickly by a second thought of _what will the Council think?_ Disturbed, he attempted to cover his momentary lapse of Jedi reserve in his customary way—reverting to light banter _._

"Well, someone needs to be around to make sure Artoo doesn't get into trouble. I do believe that droid of yours has a loose wire somewhere." His voice was light, but he shifted away from his former padawan's searching, confused look.

His tactic failed to work. Obi-Wan could feel Anakin's shock and hesitant delight through their bond as he realized the reason for his former master's hesitation.

"You _do!_ " The words came out as a surprised gasp.

He tried a shift in tactics. "Do what?" he replied blandly, still studiously ignoring Anakin's intense gaze. He was the _Negotiator_ for Force's sake; he could outtalk and outwit any politician. Yet when it came to Anakin—

— _maybe you don't want to_ whispered a small voice inside.

"You do _care_ ," Anakin's metallic arm grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder, ceasing his roving search for wounds they both knew did not exist. "You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, care about me."

Despite his heart in his mouth, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels. "Oh don't be so dramatic Anakin; of course I care about you. One does not train a padawan without some semblance of devotion."

"No," Anakin cut him off. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Obi-Wan's heart pounded once, painfully. Had he really been so callused, so cold? All those years of friendship and Anakin still did not know the connection he felt with his former apprentice?

"Anakin, I . . .," he began, and stopped.

What could he say? Yes, he loved Anakin. He was beginning to sense a deeper bond, a bond more than just one between master and apprentice, instead a bond between brothers. But it was against the Code. How could he be Anakin's mentor and not follow one of the most important creeds of being a Jedi? How could he ask Anakin to follow the Code when he himself broke it?

No, he could not tell him.

Yet it scared him sometimes, what he knew he was willing to do for his former padawan. Of course, there were some lines he would not cross, but he knew deep down he would come oh so close to them if Anakin's life hung in the balance. It was because of moments like these that he could see why the Jedi forbid attachment. He knew the sheer raw terror one feels when realizing a person they care for might not make it home, and the lengths this being will go to find a way to save them, to bring them back home. And he knew these emotions were not the Jedi way. Selflessness, sacrificing yourself for others— _that_ was what a Jedi did. To take any precaution to insure a person you loved would be safe, at the cost of others—the pure selfishness of it chilled him to the core. And it scared him to see that selfishness inside himself.

Hurt and resentment clouded his first memories of his young padawan. Even now he was ashamed of those feelings. Both disobeyed the Jedi Code, but most importantly both strained his relationship with his new charge. Before he had even gotten to know the young child from Tatooine, Obi-Wan's own master had decided he was worth more than his current padawan. In front of the Council he had turned his back on Obi-Wan, choosing Anakin over him.

Obi-Wan's taking of Anakin as his apprentice had first been a duty to a dying master, a death wish he promised to fulfill. And the young boy, bitter at the death of the Jedi he wanted to be his master, turned his heart away from the young, grieving Jedi, believing Obi-Wan thought of him as only a burden. In those first days each dealt with pain in their own way, and each thought the other would not or could not understand. And in the dark of night, between the set of the moon and the rise of the sun, two minds both had silently wished the same thing: that Obi-Wan had died and Qui-Gon had lived.

Obi-Wan winced. By the Force, he wished he could change those days. How often had we questioned himself after a particularly hard day with Anakin, knowing deep down Qui-Gon would have handled it differently, handled it better? How often had he seen resentment flair in his padawan's eyes as he cautioned restraint, the unspoken words amounting to _Qui-Gon would have never been like that_ slinging their sharped barbs through the air.

Occasionally, his own fears came into bear. Was he a good enough master? Was he right for Anakin? He had been so young, so in pain that first year. But he had been determined not to let Qui-Gon down, determined to honor his last wish, even if it was for another being and not himself. Bitterness was selfish; his thoughts should be of Anakin. So he had released what he could and hid the rest, using the pain to fuel his reckless speech to Yoda as he told him he would take Anakin as his padawan. But had that decision led irrevocable damage to their relationship?

Yet the Force works in mysterious ways. So much had changed since those first hard days as a master and apprentice. The young boy had learned to see behind the stoic mask put on by his new master for what it was; a way to deal with the grief and pain while being the anchor for a child in equal pain. And the young master began to treasure Anakin for who he was and not what he represented—a dying man's last wish.

Their bond became legendary in the Temple, much deeper than most master and padawan bonds. Perhaps it was the nearness in their ages; most knights did not take an apprentice for years after passing the trials. And the too young master and the too old apprentice, well, they were more alike than either wanted to admit.

One glance into Anakin's searching gaze completely broke his resolve. Oh hells, he had already broken so many rules for this man, and how often had he told the other Jedi in the Temple that Anakin was not like them? He was raised with a mother, in a home surrounded by love and attachment. Even though Obi-Wan himself failed to understand the complete effects of such a childhood, he knew it was not something one could easily forget.

And try as he might, he would never be the perfect Jedi master, the mentor he knew he should be. _That_ Jedi would turn to Anakin and lecture about the Code. _That_ Jedi would insist attachments lead to the Dark Side, and were to be avoided at all cost. But troubled as it made him feel, Obi-Wan had seen a goodness in Anakin, a strength born of love that he had never seen in a Jedi before. No, Anakin had already been wounded too much in his short life. Obi-Wan would not—could not—add another. Anakin needed love, just like a human needed air. Without it he withered and twisted into something unrecognizable. Learning _that_ had taken Obi-Wan countless years, years that could never be restored and never changed.

But they were both here, now. Qui-Gon had always told him to focus on the current moment. Qui-Gon had charged him with Anakin, instructed him to be his master. As a master, it was his discretion to do what he thought best for his padawan, former or not.

Obi-Wan turned around and crouched next to Anakin whose eyes never left his face. "Anakin, please listen to me. Don't interrupt, as I know you are prone to do. Just let me say my piece. Can you do that?"

Anakin stared silently at his former master. There was no movement on his face, yet Obi-Wan felt his encouraging nudge to continue through their bond. Obi-Wan licked his lips. Words were his forte, yet in this moment he suddenly found his mind blank and his tongue fixed to the roof of his mouth. He could speak before kings and queens, but with this audience of one his fear made his heart race. So much was at stake; the Jedi, the galaxy, but most importantly, their friendship. _It's now or never_. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, pulling the air through his lungs a pushing it back out, releasing his fear and following the prompting of the Force. He opened his mouth to begin.

"As you know, I have always tried to teach you to follow the Jedi Code. For me, it was . . . easier, I suppose. I was raised in the Temple, among peers and masters who taught us from childhood the tenets of being a Jedi. Yet from the beginning you were different, and I tried to be understanding. Many times I sensed disdain from other masters for the things I allowed you to do and feel." Slowly, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"But you are special, Anakin," he whispered, almost desperately. "Qui-Gon saw it. And while it took me time, I began to see it too."

He looked down, shame and remorse shadowing his words. "Anakin, I think perhaps I have not been the master you needed me to be. I have failed you. I have let my feelings get in the way of your training. I do . . . care about you, and I fear I have failed you as a master and as a Jedi." His throat closed, cutting off the rest of his words.

Silence. One heartbeat, two, three.

Then in the space between one second to the next, before his mind could even register what was happening, Obi-Wan found himself enveloped in the arms of an elated Anakin Skywalker.

"Master," he breathed, voice choked. "You have no idea how _long_ I've waited for you to say that!"

Obi-Wan, being notably shorter, ended up with his arms pin-wheeling and his nose pressed into Anakin's shoulder. Completely taken by surprise, for a moment he did not move from that position. He was not used to this sort of display—Jedi were _reserved,_ and hugging, well, that did not fall under the description of aloof.

 _But,_ he thought, suddenly moved, _I would have expected no less from Anakin._

Slowly, hesitantly, Obi-Wan returned the embrace. His own arms wrapped around the one person to whom he had devoted his entire life, the only one whom he would ever call brother.

"You've waited years for me to say I've failed you?" he muttered into Anakin's shoulder. The rough cloth covered the catch in his voice and the tears glistening in his eyes. _Thank the Force for small mercies_. Humor, irony, but above all contentment colored his words.

Anakin laughed, pulling away from the embrace. "Well, maybe," he teased, his own eyes bright.

Obi-Wan held up his hand. "I have one more thing to say," he said, "and then this whole . . . incident is complete off the record."

Anakin laughed again, too delighted to argue. "Whatever you say, Master."

Taking a deep breath, he followed the prompting in his heart. "I do know one thing; I would be much less of a Jedi, and much less of a man if I had not known you, Anakin. I would not change those years spent with you for anything in the world."

Both men looked at each other, eyes bright, hearts overflowing, the Force burning with joy and serenity, with happiness and peace. Anakin reached out and clasped his friend's wrist. "Neither would I, Master," he breathed. "Neither would I."

* * *

Darth Sidious seethed.

Once again, the Jedi had interfered in his plans. Oh, they would never actually stop him. He would eventually succeed, but the fact that he did not yet have complete power enraged him. He never lost control, but fury simmered in his blood.

He had just received word that the Jedi and their clones had retaken Sullust. In the grand scheme of things it did not matter; when the time came to bring about Order 66 all planets—Separatist or Republic alike—would fall under his control. No, it was not the battle that infuriated him. It was the Jedi who thwarted him once again. Kenobi and Skywalker. Both names synonymous now with the heroes of old, whispered beacons of hope upon lips subjugated by the Separatist armies. The Negotiator and The Hero With No Fear, both so powerful, and both destined to fall.

Skywalker . . . Sidious allowed himself a small glower of triumph at the thought of the young man. He would be his greatest accomplishment. To destroy the Jedi _and_ take their Chosen One at the same time? He cackled at the thought of it. Oh, revenge would be sweet.

Yet one obstacle stood in his way: Kenobi. With Kenobi's complete devotion to the Force, and Anakin's complete devotion to his former master, Sidious knew that one connection could bring an end to all his plans. Every time the two Jedi were sent on a mission, he gleefully waited for the report that Kenobi's pitiful life had been ended. Yet time and again the Jedi master surprised him, surviving ordeals most people could not. And each time Skywalker wallowed in his master's light, shackling himself completely to the fool and his pathetic light side. Ironic, how much the boy hated slavery, yet willingly and blindly followed his former master's every command.

An angry light gleamed in his eyes as he thought of the two Jedi. He had noticed a troubling change in the pair's relationship recently. Kenobi—despite being a mindless devotee to the light and to the so-called Code the Jedi followed—actually seemed to _care_ for Skywalker. And where before Skywalker chaffed and fought against his former master and his teachings, now . . . he seemed to _want_ his mentor's guidance.

That would not do. Sidious knew when the time came for Skywalker to be his there could be no thread of connection to the light to pull him back.

It was time.

He would get rid of Kenobi. If the stubborn man refused to die the normal way, no matter. He would _make_ him die, one way or another. Skywalker was _his_ , and no mindless servant to the light would keep Anakin from his true destiny. Skywalker was almost ripe for the picking. He didn't know it, but his footsteps traced precarious steps along the edge of an abyss already. Only one more event, one small push in the right direction would cause him to tumble. Then he would truly be ready to be Sidious' apprentice. Once his anchor to the light was gone, he would fall.

Sidious activated the comlink in his hand, his hateful eyes fully hidden beneath his black hood. Jahut Malus had killed for the Separatists before, and Sidious needed to use him once more. Usually, he considered bounty hunters beneath him. They were not servants of the dark side; they only catered to the highest bidder. Money was their master, and it lorded over them with an unforgiving hand. Nevertheless, they had their uses.

Malus, however, was different. A Force sensitive, he had been overlooked by the Jedi years before. Perhaps his connection failed to meet the Jedi standards, or perhaps they sensed darkness within him. Whatever the reason, he had been left behind to a life of destitution and suffering. Bitterness at a life lost, he turned instead to the opposite of what the Jedi stood for, vowing to exact revenge. Never having any formal training, the man utilized his limited Force skills in taking bounties. He prided himself in the fact he never lost one. Ruthless and efficient, his specialty consisted of killing the ones he thought responsible for the failings in his life—the Jedi.

The recipient of the comlink call responded almost immediately. The wavering blue hologram could not hide the cruel depths in the human bounty hunter's eyes. "My lord," he tipped his head, his rough voice grating through the link. "I am honored to be contacted by you." His wary eyes stared through space and time, narrowing as they sensed the possibilities that Sidious signified.

"I have one name for you," Sidious snarled. "Obi-Wan Kenobi. Kill him and I will make sure you will never need to look for bounties again."

The figure in the hologram nodded tersely, his arms folding over his armored chest. "It will be done, my lord," he stated matter-of-factly. "However, I do know of Kenobi's . . . reputation, as well as the reputation of his friend, Skywalker. Where one is, the other usually is too."

Sidious growled. "I will make sure Skywalker is preoccupied while you carry out your job. He will not get in your way. Kenobi will be yours for the taking."

The hologram nodded briefly. "Of course, my lord." Fleetingly, Malus' stoic veneer broke and pure malice flashed across his face. "Killing Jedi is always a pleasure."

"Just make sure you follow through," Sidious sneered and severed the connection.

Yes, Malus truly hated the Jedi—he should know. They shared that one small trait. To truly hate is an art one learns with time and Sidious, well, at the moment he had all the time in the galaxy.

Yes, Kenobi would die and Skywalker would be his.

The Jedi would fall. He had foreseen it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Between what is said and not meant, and what is meant and not said, most of love is lost._ —Kahlil Gibran

* * *

Chapter Four

Space had always seemed cold to Anakin.

Standing on the deck of _The Negotiator,_ he stared out the viewport at the swirling, churning obscurity of hyperspace. As a young child, looking up at the stars, his innocent fascination was tempered by the resounding depths that the darkness held. He felt an affinity for it, recognizing it as a mirror image of himself. Dark and cold, its allure had intensified when he was thrust into a whirlwind of an adventure, with beautiful queens and powerful Jedi, screaming racers and death defying deeds of bravery. Yet something of its wonder became tainted when his Jedi protector had lost his life in the humming reactor room on Naboo.

Uncertainty and fear had gripped him powerfully then. He had always known the life of a slave, and he knew life was cheap. If the one man who wanted him was dead, he assumed his brief life as a Jedi was over. But as the tears for a man he barely knew but owed his life to escaped down his cheeks, his life was forever changed when sad, mutable grey eyes locked onto his.

 _You will be a Jedi, I promise._

A promise that had been kept. Through everything, through years of arguments, resentment, anger and bitterness; through years of adventure, excitement, peril and bonding—both had kept their promise. Because Anakin had made a promise that day too. In front of the devouring flames that burned a mere empty vessel of a once brilliant life, he vowed he would not let death take someone from him again.

He had failed with his mother, but he would not fail with the remaining people in his life.

Lost in thought, Anakin smiled. _So far, so good._

And now, _now_ he knew it had all been worth it. His former master did care for him, in a real _true_ kind of love, not the detached version the Jedi allowed. Their bond, always strong, now sang deeper and stronger. How could this be wrong? How could love for another person _ever_ be wrong? Weren't Jedi supposed to care for the people in the galaxy, to be their guardians? The word _care_ in and of itself implied something deeper than remote detachment. How could a person be expected to sacrifice themselves for others on just an ideal and not a deeper emotion? Yoda or Mace Windu would explain the dangers of deep attachment; of how the selfishness of that attachment that can lead a person to do terrible things.

Sudden memories of heat and sand and pain and rage frothed on the edges of his mind. He quickly banished those thoughts. That had been different. Those Tuskin animals had tortured and murdered his _mother_ ; no Jedi could ever understand how that felt. Only Padmé understood his pain and anger during that time.

 _Padmé._ A thrill went through him as he thought of his wife. _My love._ Somedays he still couldn't believe she was _his._ Even the brief and hurried times they communicated, his heart still thumped in his chest at her beauty apparent even through the flickering connection. She was the best thing that ever happened to him, and not a day went by without him thanking the Force that she was his. Even with their constant separation, or their hurried meetings in secret, never once did he regret their decision.

Regret? Never. Guilt, on the other hand, sometimes crept upon him unawares. Guilt for betraying his vows as a Jedi, but most of all for deceiving Obi-Wan. Occasionally he marveled at his own power for keeping his feelings for Padmé from the man who knew him best.

That guilt hit him now, suddenly. Obi-Wan had opened up to him, exposed a side Anakin doubted he even had. He proved he had only ever cared about Anakin and what had Anakin given him in return? Nothing but lies and deception.

Doubt warred in his mind. While Obi-Wan had admitted to caring for Anakin, would he understand if Anakin told him about Padmé? Until this afternoon, Anakin would have said no. His friend was the perfect Jedi, the poster boy of the Jedi Council. Something had changed today, but he knew there were lines Obi-Wan would never cross.

No, he could never tell him. While he loved his master, and knew Obi-Wan loved him, he doubted he would condone Anakin's complete disregard of the Code that he followed unreservedly. Perhaps one day, when the war was over, when there was peace for the galaxy he could tell him. He hated hiding this side from his friend, but for now he needed to keep his secret a little longer.

 _Speaking of . . ._ Anakin shook himself out of his musings and went to find his mentor.

Neither man had escaped the battle completely unscathed. Besides Anakin's own concussion, Obi-Wan had sustained some shrapnel wounds himself. He had been vague about the details, but Anakin was pretty sure it involved shoving aside some of his men while taking the brunt of an explosion. Anakin shook his head. His stubborn former idiot of a master _definitely_ took the whole Jedi-sacrifice-themselves-for-others tenet too literally.

It was a well-known fact in the Temple, among the troops on _The Resolute_ and _The Negotiator_ —Sith, probably within the whole Grand Army of the Republic—that Obi-Wan Kenobi despised healers. More than once Anakin had found him fighting with broken ribs or unhealed blaster wounds. _The war does not stop for minor injuries, Anakin._

Well, to hells with that. At each discovery he raged and growled, and each time—for the most part—Obi-Wan begrudgingly submitted himself to the ministrations of the healers. In Anakin's eyes, Obi-Wan was way too important to be brushed off as another casualty of war. Besides, he had made a _promise._

He found Obi-Wan pouring over holo-charts in the tactical area. Face puckered in concentration, his former master stroked his beard as he gazed into the shimmering maps. Shielding his presence, Anakin took a moment to study his friend. His singed robes had been replaced with new ones, and the small cuts on his face seemed to be healed. Yet some wounds could not be healed with bacta and time. This war was making them both old. The older man's hair was beginning to turn grey at the temples, the creases around his eyes traced deeper grooves into his skin.

But his light remained the same, always Anakin's anchor, his solid foundation to stand on.

Anakin could not remain hidden for long, for Obi-Wan's connection to the Force almost rivaled Anakin's. Sensing his former padawan's presence, Obi-Wan glanced up, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Well hello there," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and giving his former padawan a searching look. "Your head must be feeling better, I assume?"

"I thought Jedi never assumed things, Master."

"And here I thought you never learned anything from me."

"I do when I hear something worth learning," Anakin grinned back.

Obi-Wan sighed theatrically, "Oh, if only that were true."

Ah, the light banter, the momentary slip into normalcy. Anakin loved this. This war may take away many things, but not what he had with Obi-Wan. He grinned impertinently at his former master and gestured at the holo-maps. "What are we looking at here?"

Obi-Wan turned to gaze back to the diagrams, the blue light reflecting the color in his eyes. "We have received word from the Council that there has been some Separatist activity near Bespin. Not much, but some Trade Federation ships have been seen in the vicinity." His fingers beat a drumming tattoo on the silver durasteel.

Suddenly, all hints of laughter from the moment before dissipated into the cold. Frowning, Anakin clenched his fist. The war was a cruel mistress; she would not be ignored for long. "Bespin?" he grated out. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the importance of that planet, and the whole Anoat sector."

Obi-Wan glanced back up, his eyebrow raised. "No, Anakin, you do not," he stated dryly. "I understand that most, if not all, of our tibanna gas to refuel our weapons comes from that planet."

Anakin forced his fist to uncurl. "So then, what's the plan? Go in with 'sabers swinging?"

Quirking his lips, Obi-Wan shook his head. "Must you always think with your lightsaber, Anakin?"

Anakin shrugged. "Just following what's been modeled for me," he countered impertinently.

Obi-Wan snorted. _How does he make even_ that _sound cultured?_ "If only," he said, then his face suddenly turned serious. "No, we are not going to go in with "'sabers swinging," as you so eloquently put it. As of right now, the situation is delicate. The leaders on Bespin consider themselves as a neutral planet."

"Then why are they giving us the gas?" Anakin interrupted. "Isn't that equivalent to declaring a side?"

Obi-Wan shot him a look. "Patience, Anakin. I am attempting to explain." Anakin glowered, but gestured for Obi-Wan to continue.

"We have a fragile treaty with them," his former master elaborated, turning back to the holo-maps. "They do supply the Republic with our tibanna gas; however they demand to stay out of the war. Refuse to comply with their demands, and they withdraw their supplies. Nevertheless, it works both ways. In compensation for no military manifestation on their planet they supply the gas evenly to both sides."

Shocked, Anakin stared at the older man. "What? You mean to say they are assisting the _Separatists_? Perhaps I've misunderstood, but there is no way they could be helping the same Separatists that have overtaken and _enslaved_ dozens of systems."

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his beard, his mouth twisted in a frown. "Anakin, don't be sarcastic. It doesn't suit you. _Yes,_ the same Separatists that the Republic is fighting. You of all people should know war demands difficult decisions. We cannot _forcefully_ take over Bespin to annex all the tibanna without becoming just like the Separatists ourselves."

"Why not?" Anakin snapped, turning away from the older Jedi. He could feel the anger singing in his blood. "You mean to say that because these people want to remain neutral, they are causing the deaths of _billions_? We should _force_ them to join the Republic. By letting them remain _safe_ we are condemning millions of others to death!"

Sighing, Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped, suddenly looking drained. "It's not that simple Anakin. There are other sources of tibanna that the Separatists could use. It would not solve the problem to take over Bespin forcefully. Besides," he continued unhappily, "We know how far our enemies are willing to go. I am certain removing their access to the Bespin tibanna would only spur on their search for . . . other methods of destruction."

Gritting his teeth, Anakin turned back toward Obi-Wan. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew former master was right. After all, he usually was.

As he looked at Obi-Wan, for a moment in Anakin's eyes he seemed almost—smaller, somehow. Not the vaulted Jedi Master, The Negotiation, a High Jedi General of the Republic, but merely a man; a man worn out from the stresses of leadership. Protectiveness suddenly surged in Anakin.

"You're right, Master," he acquiesced. "I just get so _frustrated_ sometimes. As a child back on Tatooine, I thought things were simple, you know? Just black and white. There were clear lines between good and evil." He paused, clouded eyes gazing into the distance, and then rushed on.

"But now . . . I just feel that this war has . . . spoiled that. We shouldn't have to _debate_ if something is good or bad, we should just know. We shouldn't have to weight it against the number of lives lost, just the fact that any life lost is wrong." He paused again, and then said quietly, "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have been born in another time. When this war wasn't a constant thought, when we didn't have to worry about death and destruction every day."

Anakin stumbled to a stop, suddenly realizing he had opened up to Obi-Wan in a way he never had before. Disconcerted, he shifted his gaze away. Yes, it was different now between them. He knew Obi-Wan cared about him. But what if Obi-Wan turned away? Even though he cared about Anakin, he was still a Jedi through and through. And as a rule, other Jedi did not feel emotions as deeply as Anakin did. He did not think he could stand to see the disappointment in Obi-Wan's eyes before he began a lecture on the Jedi Code.

Yet the man in front of him never ceased to amaze him. Tenderly, Obi-Wan reached over and placed both his hands on Anakin's shoulders, turning him so they were face to face. "Oh, Anakin," he began, his voice soft. "Many people who live to see such times think those very thoughts. But this is not for us to decide. This war is a trial for all of us, the Jedi most of all. Some see the shades of grey and fall into them, never finding their way back to the light. Yet we all must choose what to do with the time that is given to us.

"But that is what makes you so special, my friend. You always amaze me with your goodness. As a child choices may have seemed easier, but you have grown and matured in so many ways. So while I will always remember that little boy on Tatooine, I could not be more proud of the man in front of me today."

Anakin felt his throat close. "Master, I . . . I don't know what to say . . ."

"Then don't say anything," Obi-Wan abruptly grinned, the hands on Anakin's shoulders turning into a slight shove. "Force, I truly believe a miracle has happened today. First you admit I am right—twice, I might add—and then I shock you speechless? The Force must really love me."

Then he laughed: a direct open laugh, a laugh that reached down inside his soul.

Anakin could not keep a grin from splitting his face in two, his own answering laugh resonating out of his chest. Force, it felt good to laugh and to have someone to laugh with. The cathartic delight echoed through their bond. Oh, nothing could completely erase the pain the war brought, but to have someone to laugh with made bearing the pain . . . easier.

Still smiling, Anakin looked over at his former master, his heart suddenly faltering in his chest. It was moments like these that abruptly, unexpected, the dragon he kept chained up in his heart threatened to escape. These little moments of pure happiness, of _rightness_ only reminded him of what he had to lose. He knew he was being foolish, that he should live in the moment, to appreciate what he had— _who_ he had—in the here and now. But deep down, the dragon whispered to him, snarling, clawing at the walls.

 _All things die, Anakin Skywalker, even the stars burn out_.

And it was in these moments that the burning star within him singed away another piece of his armor, chipped away at the disguise he kept in place for all beings in the universe to see, the façade of "hero" that hid the crippling fear that was truly Anakin Skywalker. Because he did fear. Yes, Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, hated these moments of happiness because it made him fear all the more the day when the reasons for his happiness, the light that kept his darkness at bay in his world, could be ripped away from him.

Unaware of the struggle within his friend, Obi-Wan reached for the comlink at his belt. "I'm going to call Cody up here. We need to discuss our plans for infiltrating the system. We do not want to cause Bespin to remove their supply because of something we did."

Roughly Anakin thrust such thoughts aside. _Focus on the here and now_. Obi-Wan was fine, they were both fine. Focus on the mission. He nodded, swallowing the alarm and distress, becoming once more The Hero with No Fear. His lips cracked a small smile. "And by discuss plans I assume that means you already have one?"

"I thought Jedi never assume?" Eyebrow raised, Obi-Wan smirked back at his former padawan.

"Ha ha. Just call Cody up here so we can hear what you've got prepared."

"Yes, _Master_." Obi-Wan grasped his comm just as Anakin's own beeped. Both looked at it, surprised. "It's an incoming transmission from the Chancellor," Anakin said, bemused.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Oh," he said simply. "And what do you think the good Chancellor is going to request from us now? Perhaps he is going to invite us to spend a glorious day with the politicians."

Anakin glared at his former master. "I know you don't like him, but he _is_ the Chancellor after all, and head of the Republic that we have vowed to serve."

Obi-Wan snorted. "Yes, the one that _he_ serves too. Although sometimes I wonder if he remembers that when the Senate votes him more and more executive powers. Your _friend_ doesn't seem to be in any hurry to end this war."

Eyes flashing, Anakin shook his head and turned away. He knew Obi-Wan's thoughts on the Chancellor, and he did not want to have their same argument with his friend right now. His friendship with the Supreme Chancellor had always been an area of disagreement between them, and nothing either said now would resolve the issue.

Anakin flicked on the comm and bowed deeply at the flickering transmission. "Chancellor," he greeted him.

"Anakin!" Palpatine smiled warmly, his grandfatherly visage wavering in the blue light. "How are you, my dear boy? I hear congratulations are in order, you have retaken Sullust."

Anakin glanced over at Obi-Wan standing out of view of the transmission. His former master's eyebrow rose sardonically as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It was a joint effort between Master Kenobi and myself," Anakin responded carefully. Sometimes the Chancellor overdid it, but he could not help but feel a blossom of warmth at his words.

The Chancellor understood him, had befriended him from a young age. When he had first come to Coruscant he had only been a young boy, and the Chancellor of the Republic was well, just that—the Chancellor. Yet he had noticed him, taken him under his wing in a time of whirlwind confusion. He was on a new planet, starting a new life, no longer Anakin Skywalker, slave; but Anakin Skywalker, Jedi learner. In those first few years he appreciated having someone outside the Jedi he could talk to, someone with whom he felt he could express himself, _be_ himself.

Clearly, or so his former master believed, it had done nothing good for his superiority complex. He enjoyed the looks he received when he, a young padawan learner, was allowed to talk to Palpatine when others had to wait years for an audience. He _relished_ in them.

He had no qualms about Obi-Wan's thoughts on the relationship. Obi-Wan despised politicians in general and clearly had his reservations about the Chancellor. Often Anakin found his position on politicians humorous and somewhat endearing, seeing how much time the man spent among them. Still, Anakin seethed at his master's disapproving silences when the Chancellor requested another meeting. He knew the Chancellor was different, and presumed Obi-Wan's guardedness as just jealousy.

The Chancellor waved his words away. "I'm sure it was, my dear boy. Are both of you well? The war is trying for all of us."

Anakin glanced over again at Obi-Wan. This time a genuine smile broke out over his face. "Chancellor, both of us are very well." Despite his reservations, an answering smile crossed Obi-Wan's face. Yes, they were better than they ever had been. Brothers, friends—this war may be trying for all, but it had made them both closer.

Anakin glanced back at the figure in the transmission just in time to see—something—flicker across Palpatine's face before it smoothed back into his normal collected expression.

"That is . . . good to hear, Anakin. However, while I am loath to take you off the field when you are doing so much good for the Republic, I must ask a favor of you."

Anakin pulled his brows together, already dreading the Chancellor's next words. "Of course, Supreme Chancellor. What can I do for you?"

"You may not know, but the war effort is suffering. We are losing support in the Senate. Many Senators are beginning to doubt the purpose behind this war. They are losing faith in the Republic." The Chancellor suddenly looked tired. "I will not allow that to happen. There are two senators in particular who are crucial in a vote for more clone troops. I believe if I visit their planets myself it will help our cause."

Anakin cocked his head. "Are you sure that's wise, my lord? Coruscant is safe deep in Republic space. Leaving Coruscant . . . well, it would be devastating if you were to get captured by Separatists while visiting other planets."

The Chancellor smiled again at Anakin. "I understand the risk, and I am willing to take it. However, that is where you come in. I am requesting your protection as I travel off world."

Startled, Anakin blinked at the flickering figure in the hologram. "Me? But, my lord, there must be other Jedi on Coruscant who . . ."

The Chancellor cut him off. "Anakin, please. While I respect the Jedi, sometimes I wonder about their . . . competency in some matters." Anakin winced as he felt a flash of displeasure from Obi-Wan. _Well,_ this _isn't going to make him like Palpatine any more than he already does . . ._

His attention snapped back to the still talking Chancellor. "You're a hero, and dare I say, famous all throughout the galaxy. I would feel much safer with The Hero With No Fear by my side."

Anakin waivered. On one hand, they had just been assigned another mission from the Council. He doubted they would appreciate the Chancellor taking him away to place him on glorified guard duty.

Yet on the other hand . . . it was the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. And he wanted Anakin to help him, to protect him. Wasn't that more important than scouting out a system that may or may not be loyal to the Republic? Besides, the mission Obi-Wan had just explained to him sounded simple enough, simply monitoring comings and goings of transports, his old master could probably even handle it himself.

"My lord, I'm not sure the Jedi Council . . ."

Once again the Chancellor cut him off. "I have already spoken to the Council and told them my plans. While they are not particularly pleased, they will not prevent me, or you, from going."

Out of options, Anakin bowed once again. "Then it would be my pleasure to serve you, Chancellor." For a moment, a smug smile sprang to his lips. Even the Council did not dare to stand up to Palpatine. _That_ was power, and its allure sang in his veins. The Chancellor returned his bow and cut the transmission.

Obi-Wan stayed to the side, his arms still over his chest, disapproval written over his face. "I guess I'm going this one alone, then?"

Hurt flared in Anakin. Talking to Palpatine always seemed to have that effect on him. Why couldn't Obi-Wan be happy for him? Couldn't he see how important this was? He should be proud that his former padawan was handpicked by the Chancellor to protect him.

But instead his former master disapproved, he reprimanded, he withheld his affection for spite. He just wanted to hold him back, to keep him by his side so he could watch and correct and lecture when he did something wrong.

"I guess so," he retorted. "If you don't think you can handle it, _Master_ , I'm sure one of the less _competent_ Jedi at the Temple can come assist you."

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm certain I can handle it without help, _Padawan_ ," he replied coolly. "I did survive for twenty-five years without _you_."

Anakin laughed derisively, hurt causing words he never meant to say to burst out of him. "You would have never survived those years alone, Master. Perhaps that is what Master Qui-Gon recognized when he told the Council he wanted me as his apprentice. He was tired of being held back."

Even as he spoke he could not believe what he was saying. He did not _mean_ it; he was just angry—surely Obi-Wan knew that . . .

Obi-Wan's eyes met Anakin's, fleetingly revealing something dark and intense within. The power flashed and heaved through the Force, lighting it up like a bonfire in the night, surging like the seas during a storm. It was moment like these that Anakin remembered his former master was the renowned Sith Killer, and one of the best Jedi in the Order, and he could see why.

Then Obi-Wan's mental barriers slammed up, so fast and so sudden that Anakin was left reeling in the vacuum his presence left behind.

 _Kriff_. "Obi-Wan, look, I'm . . ."

However Commander Cody and several others chose that moment to stride into the room. Anakin gritted his teeth as Cody glanced at the two Generals questioningly. Thoughts still tightly veiled, Obi-Wan turned his back on Anakin and faced the approaching clones.

"We have a new mission," he informed them evenly, always the proper Jedi, giving no indication of the confrontation from before. "General Skywalker will be taking a ship back to Coruscant upon reaching the Anoat sector."

Anakin sighed in frustration. He knew when to back down. There would be time to apologize later. After all, a Jedi always sought out peace. Neither man ever stayed angry at each other for long.

Nevertheless, space _was_ cold, and somehow the space between them felt colder.


	5. Chapter 5

_The moral reality of war is divided into two parts. War is always judged twice, first with reference to the reasons states have for fighting, secondly with reference to the means they adopt. . ._

—Michael Walzer

* * *

Chapter Five

The trip to the Anoat sector had only taken a few hours, giving neither man a chance to talk to the other. Preparations and tactical meetings for their respective upcoming missions occupied their time, and they too quickly found themselves saying goodbye.

Before Anakin's departure, Obi-Wan made his way down to the hangar. The young Jedi was already in his cockpit as Artoo ran the preflight check. Obi-Wan did not know why, but there was something about this mission . . . he could not shake an unexpected feeling of foreboding. Suddenly, he wished his friend was not leaving.

Anakin looked up at his former master's approach and said something to Artoo before leaping out of the cockpit.

"Obi-Wan," he said guardedly, slipping his hands into his sleeves in an unconscious imitation of his former master.

"I've come to wish you goodbye, Anakin," Obi-Wan informed him. _Tell him all is forgiven!_ The unbidden thought floated urgently through his mind. He opened his mouth to obey, but clamped it shut as Anakin started talking.

"I see," Anakin replied. He looked for a moment as if he was going to say something else, and then stopped, looking at Obi-Wan from under drawn eyebrows.

Obi-Wan nodded. Now was not the time. Later, after, sometime else when this war was not weighing on their minds, they could talk as friends. Now however, their duties called. "May the Force be with you, Anakin."

Anakin's lips twisted. "You too, Master." He glanced away, and then looked back. "Take care of yourself, okay? I wouldn't want to make our running tally eight to zero now."

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile. "Oh I plan to. And the tally would be only _seven_ , thank you very much."

Both men bowed formally to each other, leaving the words they truly wanted to say to each other unsaid.

While the words and hurt between them were not forgiven they could be forgotten, for now.

* * *

From afar, Bespin was beautiful. Swirling hues of pink and yellow gas eddied and churned in the atmosphere. The deceptively delicate-looking spires and platforms of Cloud City rose from the swirling morass, appearing to float atop a sea of beautiful color.

Its moon Nuojauta, however, was a different story. Years of strip mining for thorilide had left it broken and barren. Black shards of rocks jutted like thorns into the thin, polluted air. Deep crevasses ran along the surface, appearing as if a giant nexu had reached down to claw away at the ground.

Thorilide was a crystalline substance, used in the manufacturing of starships as a shock absorber for turbolaser cannons. During the Stark Hyperspace war thorilide's importance greatly increased, leading to feverish strip mining of the moon. However, after those few frantic years, the shallow lode ran out. Now, stripped of its precious mineral years ago, Nuojauta stood as an ugly reminder of greed and death in the skies of its neighboring planet.

Obi-Wan slowly piloted his freighter above the destroyed terrain. Even from here he could see towering scaffolding over the mining shafts that plunged miles down toward the heart of the planet. He was grateful for the ruins, however. The fact that they were still standing boded well for establishing a Republic base undetected among the skeletons of previous lifetimes. He wondered if those beings ever regretted their choices that lead to the destruction of a once beautiful moon.

 _Speaking of regrets_ _. . ._ he shook his head as he thought about his argument with Anakin. It had been petty on both sides. He would admit he felt an infinitesimal flair of possessiveness when the Chancellor requested Anakin to return to Coruscant. Oh, not about the fact that it was the _Chancellor,_ but rather that he occupied a place in Anakin's heart that Obi-Wan could never fill. Obi-Wan was the taskmaster, the teacher and instructor. He taught, and that sometimes meant he disciplined and corrected.

Both things which Anakin detested.

But in the Chancellor's eyes, Anakin could do no wrong. He could see how Anakin basked in the praise he received from Palpatine. It worried him. Something always felt . . . off . . . about that man, ever sense he had first met him over ten years ago. Even then the man had taken an immediate fancy to Anakin, much to Obi-Wan's own disgruntlement. He did not trust politicians in general and Palpatine, well, he lived and breathed politics.

Yet Anakin still had much to learn. He craved attention, as well as acceptance, and Palpatine granted him both. Thus when Obi-Wan denied him the latter, hurt and bitterness rose like vicious bile within him.

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan let the soothing sense of the Force flow through him, cleansing his mind and thoughts of hurt and suspicion. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ The Jedi Code had always been his lifeline, the code by which he lived. Anakin might buck at the restraint it commanded, the wholehearted devotion required to live it; yet for Obi-Wan, it gave him peace. It offered him a place in the galaxy, a sense of purpose. To him it wasn't restrictive—it was belonging, tranquility, and very much his life.

 _There is no emotion, there is peace._ He chuckled softly. How many times had he recited that to himself throughout the years of training Anakin? Countless times, and he knew there would be countless more.

 _Later_ , Obi-Wan promised himself, _when this mission is over and Anakin is back from helping the Chancellor we will sit down and talk_.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan turned his thoughts away from his former apprentice and back to the task at hand. As he had explained to Anakin before, the task was simple enough. Because of increased Separatist activity in the area, the Republic wanted to observe—or spy, depending on who was asked—the surrounding system. They hoped to set up a small command post on the moon. From this post they could detect the comings and goings of the various ships and hopefully inform the Republic in time if the Separatists were planning a full on invasion of Bespin.

Obi-Wan's role was relatively simple. Go in, survey the area, and help set up the command post. He knew the mission depend on absolute secrecy. If the Bespin government found out that a Republic command post was tracking all the comings and goings of ships in the area, the repercussions would be catastrophic. He had misgivings himself about spying on a system that declared themselves to be neutral.

This war had caused so many changes, so many problems tangibly, as well as morally and ethically. The Jedi, one moment peacekeepers, had found themselves thrust into a galactic conflict the next. Many—Obi-Wan included—struggled to comprehend the purpose of the war, to understand if it was even necessary in the first place. The moral and ethical implications abounded. Did the ends truly justify the means? Perhaps they had already answered that question by fighting the war in the first place.

For the ends to justify the means, a goal needed to be morally important enough that any method of achieving it was acceptable. But who could decide such a thing? To one person, a goal may be morally important enough to commit a horrible act that another being would never deem close to honorable.

No, he would never believe that any ends justified the means. In his world there was right and wrong, good and bad, light and dark. To begin to believe truth was relative would be the first step to becoming what they were fighting.

Yet he knew that in times of war, the laws and morals are often forgotten. There were lines he would never cross. In spite of that, Obi-Wan was a Jedi, first and foremost. Others may believe to spy on a neutral system simply counted as good war strategy, yet for him it was not so simple. This war had changed the entire Order into something almost unrecognizable. Some of the decisions could never be truly quantified. He knew of Anakin's call on Jabiim, to leave behind the remaining men of the resistance to save his own troops. Could there have been another option? Did the needs of the many outweigh those of the few?

He shook his head. All the choices they made—for good or for ill—they were all something they would have to answer for personally after the war. Whether or not they would be held accountable by law, he knew personally he would struggle within. He recalled his words earlier to Anakin. _We all must choose what to do with the time that is given to us_ _._ Closing his eyes briefly, he couldn't help but wonder if the choices he was making would ever stop haunting him.

Pulling in his doubts and worries, he acknowledged them and released them into the Force.

Now, he had a duty to fulfill.

Skimming low to the ground, the ship's sensors picked up a landing bay in a structurally sound structure. The grey permacrete building looked as if it had been one of the main hubs for the underground mines; its sprawling tunnels ran like arms out into the plains before the shafts plunged down into the ground.

The landing bay was open sided, he noted, which would have allowed for the speed in takeoff and landing of transports—and would assist with their landing craft as well. The roof appeared steady, as did the floor. Obi-Wan gently landed the frigate and opened the hatch to the outside. Dank, thin air reached his nostrils and he winced.

Just a ripple, a slight premonition in the Force . . . He did not know why but there was just something about it; perhaps the way the sun barely reached the surface, or the strange tang in the air but he did not like this planet. It set Obi-Wan's nerves on edge and his senses singing. Breathing deep, he straightened his shoulders and stepped outside onto Bespin's moon.

The power generators on the station had stopped working long ago, leaving the only light source to come from the dim light filtering through the dirty and infrequent windows. Dust particles floated through the faint beams of light, stirred up by the Jedi's soft steps. Igniting his lightsaber, Obi-Wan made his way toward where he assumed the comm station would be, using the Force to guide him. He smiled slightly to himself as he thought back to his and Anakin's banter earlier that day over that very word. Well, Anakin was not there, and what he did not know would not hurt him.

He roamed deeper into the maze of hallways. Wide tunnels that led to the mineshafts themselves shot off every now and then into the dark. For some reason, the desolate terrain destroyed by greed brought to mind that long ago mission to Telos. Strange. He had not thought of that mission for years. As he walked, he recalled Xanatos' dark eyes as he threw himself into the pool of acid rather than reconcile with Qui-Gon, his former master. Even now he shuddered to think of it. To ever be that dark and devoid of the light . . . he could not fathom the thought. His eyebrows drew together as he thought of his own former apprentice. Anakin sometimes walked that line, and Obi-Wan did not know what he would do if Anakin ever crossed it.

Lost in thought, the first shot took him by surprise. Not in the same way as a normal human, of course. To be normal would have been dead, for even though he was surprised, Obi-Wan's lightsaber was in his hand and deflecting the blaster bolt that would have killed any other being.

 _Stupid, Kenobi!_ He chided himself. _You know better than that!_

He barely had time to think before barrage of blaster bolts flew toward him. Steadily and precisely deflecting each bolt, he whirled around to find the source of the shots. Six seeker droids floated in the surrounding hallways. He was in the center of an intersection; two hallways leading north and south, and two mining tunnels leading east and west. From their positions in three of the tunnels, the droids continued their barrage.

Even a being without the Force could comprehend that something was off. Obi-Wan knew seeker droids were used primarily by bounty hunters, and had not been invented before the demise of the mining facility. He knew the droids could not be acting on their own. As he kept up his defense, reluctantly backing down the only hallway available to him, he searched the surrounding area with the Force.

 _There._ Behind the droids, he sensed a flicker of life. It was tainted with the dark side, reeking of malice and hatred. Whoever he was, he had planned his attack well. Six droids were in no way capable of defeating a Jedi, yet they would wear him down. Obi-Wan also knew he was being driven exactly where the bounty hunter desired. The placement of the droids were in no way random, and Obi-Wan's mind raced as he continued to make his way down the darkening and downward sloping tunnel, skillfully defending himself from the pursuing droids.

A moment later, he realized the purpose of herding him down the tunnel.

The wide tunnel ended in an enormous, circular shaft. A grated catwalk wound its way around the edge of the shaft. Rusted beams and cables where lifts had once dragged up the precious crystals dangled over and down into the inky blackness of the mine.

He was trapped.

Throughout his flight, he had managed to take out two of the droids with deflected blaster bolts. Realizing there was nowhere to run he turned to stand his ground against the four remaining droids at the entrance of the tunnel. By stepping several feet beyond the opening, he had more room to maneuver his blade while the droids found their spacing limited.

Obi-Wan descended deep into the Force, wielding his lightsaber with infinite precision. Every shot was accounted for, each footstep placed precisely where was best. He was a master in Soresu, the lightsaber form it was said could render an expert wielder nearly invincible against any attack. Renowned throughout the Temple, even Master Windu sought him out as a sparring partner when both masters had the time. The running total was seven to four in Windu's favor, but to be fair, he _was_ one of the highest ranking Jedi in the Order.

However, despite the strengths of any form, weaknesses manifested as well. While Obi-Wan could defend himself indefinitely, the droids possessed infinite energy. And Obi-Wan, well, he might not like to _admit_ it, but even a Jedi had limits.

Time for a change in tactics.

Years ago, as a padawan, he had been drawn to the aerial techniques and athletic skills of Ataru. But after Naboo tragically revealed its shortcomings, Obi-Wan found himself drawn to the defensive style of Soresu. That did not mean, however, that he had abandoned his study altogether, or that Obi-Wan could only defend. Switching into the low side opening stance of Ataru, a confident smile tugged at his face.

Quite the contrary.

Flipping high into the air, Obi-Wan's booted feet crashed down onto one of the four remaining droids. Balancing precariously on its metallic carapace, he continued to defend until another droid inched out of the tunnel. With a wide sweep, he cut through the top of his temporary foothold and, summersaulting into the air again, Force pushed the pieces into the oncoming droid, sending them both skittering off the catwalk into empty air.

The remaining two droids scuttled out of the tunnel, blasters still firing. Obi-Wan backed up, deflecting as he went. The catwalk creaked ominously, the rusted girders in the wall shifting at the added weight. The droids had been programed well, and they split up, one heading to Obi-Wan's left and the other to the right. It looked as though they had caught him between them. No Jedi, not even a Master, could deflect blaster bolts from two opposite directions.

But Obi-Wan was no normal Jedi Master, and neither was he stupid.

 _Wait . . . wait . . . now!_ At the Force's prompting, he leapt through the air, diving for the catwalk across from him. Both droids shot, and by the merest of millimeters, both droids missed their intended target. But not Obi-Wan's. With matching shrieks and the whine of melting metal and servos, both droids collapsed as their counterpart's bolt hit their metallic bodies.

Obi-Wan landed lightly on the catwalk, a third of the way around the pit from the tunnel entrance. The smoldering heaps of droid parts lay scattered around, sending sparks and smoke into the already dank air. "So uncivilized," he muttered.

Centered deep into the Force, Obi-Wan took a calming breath as he probed the surrounding area. Even though the droids lay in pieces around him, but he knew the fight wasn't over. He could still sense whoever it was lurking in the tunnel from where he had emerged.

Obi-Wan glanced in front of him, down into the inky depths of the mining shaft disappearing into the ground. The only exit was either down the shaft— _no, thanks, I rather_ like _staying alive—_ or through the tunnel ahead of him on the other side of the mine— _not the most promising prospect either._

Planting his feet and sweeping his lightsaber above him in the classic opening stance of Soresu, he grinned cockily into the dark mouth of the tunnel. "I seemed to have destroyed your welcoming committee," he declared, gesturing dismissively at the pieces scattered around the rusting catwalk. "Perhaps I could apologize in person? Or maybe you like hiding in the dark; only a coward would send _droids_ to kill a Jedi."

Even though it was faint, Obi-Wan could sense the dark side emanating from the being still masked in the shadows. It was nothing like the Zabrak on Naboo, or Dooku, or even Ventress, but the raw hatred within the being's Force signature sent a shiver down Obi-Wan's spine.

Finally, the being stepped forward enough to be visible in the flickering light from the sapphire blade. He was a human, average height, and clearly a bounty hunter from the various pieces equipment he carried on his person. A Wookee bandoleer ran across his chest, explosives of every type strapped to it. A large blaster rifle was attached to his back, while a holster for a blaster pistol was snuggly strapped to his left hip. His shaved head reflected the light of the blade, but that was nothing compared to the glittering anger in his eyes.

"I'm not a coward," his voice grated in Obi-Wan's ears. "I'm just a man with a plan."

Obi-Wan snorted to himself. _Delightful. A million bounty hunters in the galaxy, and I get the one who fancies himself a poet._ He squinted at the man across the pit from him. "Do I know you?" he asked, his mind working as he took in the bounty hunter's appearance, sizing him up as he stalled to regain some of his strength.

"I don't think so; I don't make it a habit to know _Jedi_." The man spit out the word as if it was a curse.

 _Interesting._ "And yet I think I've seen your face . . . ahh, I know! Perhaps on a wanted poster on the holonet for some petty crime." While he often scolded Anakin for his talent in irritating their opponents, he did realize the logic in the fact that making a person angry—well, it often led to mistakes on the opponent's part.

Yet the bounty hunter brushed it off. A grin seemed to turn the man's face into a leering skull in the flickering light. "If killing Jedi is a petty crime, then perhaps that's true."

 _Killing Jedi?_ This hunter had a high opinion of himself, but Obi-Wan could tell he carried himself with confidence. He reminded him of the bounty hunter he had met years ago on Kamino before the whole war had started.

He bowed mockingly at him, flourishing his lightsaber. "Well, if I am about to die, could I at least have the pleasure of knowing by whom I am killed?"

The leering skull simply blinked. "You only need to know this, _Jedi_. I am the last person you will ever see."

Even as the last word was leaving his lips, the bounty hunter's blaster was in his hand and the first shots flew toward Obi-Wan.

As he defended, irritation flashed briefly through Obi-Wan. He didn't have _time_ to waste time with this bounty hunter. Ordinarily he would be flattered—having someone place a bounty on you meant you were kicking over some right rocks—but right now he was just tired and slightly baffled. Employing bounty hunters was not beneath the Separatists, but even they had to realize the futility of trying to kill him. There were thousands of Jedi in the galaxy, why would they signal him out? If he was killed, another Jedi would take his place, he was not that important in the grand scheme of the war.

His thoughts caused him to become distracted, and a blaster bolt grazed his leg. _Stupid, Kenobi!_ he chided himself for a second time that day. _Focus on the here and now!_

Killing was not the Jedi way, and Obi-Wan wanted answers. _Time to disarm . . . literally_. Summoning the Force, he surged over the pit beneath him in a mighty leap, landing directly next to the bounty hunter. But as his 'saber came down in a finishing blow to the man's forearm, there was a flash and sizzle—and nothing happened. Obi-Wan drew back, momentarily shocked as he stared at his unexpectedly useless lightsaber.

"Beskar gauntlets. . ." Obi-Wan breathed. Extremely rare, beskar ore could withstand a lightsaber's blade, the contact between the two shorting out the blade for several minutes.

He was suddenly aware of an _overwhelmingly_ _very bad feeling about this . . ._

Once again he was greeted by that skull-like grin, the bounty hunter's eyes glittering in gloating triumph.

Everything slowed. In the space between one heartbeat and the next Obi-Wan could see and feel everything. He could see the hunter's finger on the trigger. He could feel his gloating rage seer hot and heavy through the Force. He could feel his own exhaustion and the heavy weight of his useless lightsaber hilt in his hand. He could see he was not going to make it to the tunnel before death in the form of a blaster bolt reached him. Obi-Wan was not scared of death— _there is no death, there is only the Force_ —but he was not going to sit back and _welcome_ it.

He took the only option left to him.

Time sped back to reality, the flickering light, the gasping breaths, the dank ventilation. Twisting in the air, Obi-Wan dove forward into the inky blackness, reaching out with the Force even as he dodged the first blast from the bounty hunter's pistol. The explosives on the bandoleer floated into the air, buoyed by the Force's light caress.

"What the . . .!" Rage flickered across the bounty hunter's face a realization came crashing down on him. Twisting desperately, the hunter attempted to run to the tunnel. A violent explosion rocked the room, propelling both men away; the hunter back into the wall and Obi-Wan into the mineshaft below.

 _Sith._ He might have over done it. He was falling faster than he had planned. Gathering the Force around him, pulling it to him like a warm blanket, a light embrace, he simply hoped it would be enough to save him from the landing below.

 _I'm beginning to hate this planet . . ._ was his last thought before he hit the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

_Born, the Man assumes the name and image of humanity, and becomes in all things like unto other men who dwell upon the earth. Their hard lot becomes his, and his, in turn, becomes the lot of all who shall come after him. Drawn on inexorably by time, it is not given him to see the next rung on which his faltering foot shall fall. Bounded in knowledge, it is not given him to foretell what each succeeding hour, what each succeeding minute, shall have in store for him. In blind nescience, in an agony of foreboding, in a whirl of hopes and fears, he completes the cycle of an iron destiny._

—Leonid Andreyev

* * *

Chapter Six

"Can't we go any faster, Artoo?" Anakin snapped at his diminutive copilot, fidgeting in his seat. The astromech burbled and whistled a reply, clearly offended that his master thought he was not operating at maximum capacity. Anakin grimaced and shook his head. The various words the small droid employed in his sentences could make even Anakin blush. He should have never removed his protocol restraints.

"It's nothing against your piloting, Artoo." He looked out at the flashing miasma of hyperspace. "It's . . . I just have a bad feeling, you know?" He rubbed his forehead and muttered, "Great, now I'm starting to sound like Obi-Wan."

Although he was loath to admit it, something about the whole situation did not feel right to Anakin. Although he was elated the Chancellor requested him, deep down he did not like the fact that he left Obi-Wan behind. Originally, the prospect of several days back on Coruscant had set his heart leaping. _Padmé._ It had been months since he had seen his angel, his love, his _wife_. The thought of seeing her again had driven all guilt about leaving Obi-Wan and the fight they had from his mind. But when he had commed Padmé, she nearly burst into tears, for she was back on Naboo for a senatorial conference with the Queen. There was no way she could leave, and she would not be back for several weeks.

To say that had put him in a foul mood would be an understatement.

So even when Obi-Wan had some to say goodbye, he could not work past the anger to follow the prompting in his heart to let him know he was sorry, that he was not mad at _him,_ just the situation in general. So they danced about the subject as masterfully as usual, and both had left feeling nothing was resolved.

 _Later,_ he assured himself, _when I get back, I'll talk to him._

Nevertheless, a feeling of foreboding lingered in the back of his mind, setting his nerves on edge.

Restless as he was, he knew there was nothing he could do to make the ship travel any faster. He had modified the engines himself, removing some of the speed dampeners, consequently increasing maximum speed. Obi-Wan would have been furious if he realized Anakin had done the same to his ship. That thought caused Anakin to chuckle to himself.

Not that his master was a bad pilot—quite the opposite in fact. He had heard that his former master had actually used to be one of the best pilots at the Temple when he was younger, but his enthusiasm for flying had changed after Naboo. Now, he was content to let his former padawan perform all the death-defying stunts in space while he kept his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Thinking of his former master made Anakin more restless. He had been in hyperspace for two hours, and he still had two more to go before reaching Coruscant space. With those hours endless stretching before him, he decided to meditate. The thought of the look on Obi-Wan's face made him smirk. They both knew how much Anakin _hated_ meditating and the thought that he would do it _willingly . . ._ that was almost as rare as seeing Master Windu smile. But, he reasoned, it was better than focusing on events he could not change or feelings he could not shake.

 _The tang of ozone and smoke fills the air. The darkness is lit by flashing colors, blue and red, as his lightsaber deflects and slashes again and again in precise, masterful movements. Are all the droids gone? Yes, that's the last one. But wait, there's the bounty hunter himself . . ._

 _The bounty hunter is good, he will give him that—albeit grudgingly—and it is taking all his reserves to keep himself balanced on the catwalk while protecting himself from the blasts._

 _A flash of affront as a bolt from a blaster scarcely seers his leg. So uncivilized. Exhaustion is creeping into his thoughts. No, push that down, away. Need to keep fighting, need to get back to the surface . . ._

 _Then, a sudden crackle, a blinding flash of light, and an alarming_ very bad feeling _. An explosion and falling, falling, falling . . ._

"Obi-Wan!" The annihilating dream— _vision?_ —shattered as Anakin fought for breath, snapping himself out of his meditative state. What the kriffing _boshuda_ was that?

Hands still trembling from fear and adrenaline, he slammed his ship out of hyperspace. Artoo shrieked in dismay, the ship echoing the sound. The wings screeched and trembled from the abuse as the starfighter shuddered to a stop in the inky blackness of space.

"Shut _up,_ Artoo!" Anakin snarled, his mind still reeling from the assault through his bond with his master in the Force. "Something's wrong. Plot a course for Nuojauta as fast as you can."

Artoo bleeped something back as he began the calculations. "Kriff it, I don't _care_ about the Chancellor right now, okay?" He slammed his fist into the canopy before taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I just know I need to get back to Obi-Wan, _now._ I'll worry about the Chancellor later."

As Artoo completed the calculation, Anakin attempted to reach through his bond to find his friend. He could almost always feel Obi-Wan, even half a galaxy away. But now instead of the customary brush of dry humor and calming light, only a faint impression—like a mere shadow cast by a physical counterpart—remained.

 _I knew_ _something was wrong! Obi-Wan, you had better be fine when I get there, because when I rescue you again, I'm going to kill you myself._

* * *

Darkness _. Am I asleep? Is this a dream?_ Pain. _No, not a dream. Broken rib, possibly something else. Did Anakin crash our ship again?_ Uncertainty. _Why is it warm? And dark?_

 _Okay, time to get up now._

With a sharp intake of breath, Obi-Wan sat up. For a moment fear sliced through him as he blinked. _I can't see . . . Did something happen to my eyes?_ Reaching deep within himself, he sought the calming presence of the Force. _Breathe in, breathe out._ For a moment he sat there, wherever _there_ was, and gently probed his own body. _Ribs are not broken, only bruised . . . wrist is wrenched, but usable. Blaster burn on my leg. . ._ Snapping his eyes open again, he remembered what happened.

 _The bounty hunter!_ He had used the bounty hunter's own weapons against him, but in doing so had fallen down the mine shaft. While Jedi are powerful, even the Force could not save a body hitting the ground at terminal velocity. He knew he had attempted to slow his fall using the Force, and it would have helped him some, but the distance he fell . . . _How am I still alive?_

Reaching out with the Force, Obi-Wan surveyed his surroundings. He was at the bottom of the mineshaft. He could feel the warmth of the planet core in the dank air. He still didn't know why the bounty hunter had come after him. He also didn't know if the hunter was alive or dead, killed in the explosion that almost killed him. Still, if what the man said was true and he was an experienced Jedi killer, Obi-Wan harbored doubts that a mere explosion would drive the man off his trail.

The dusty, loamy earth tickled his nose, and he suddenly sneezed. But there! Reaching out, he called his lightsaber into his hand from where it had fallen. The solid feel of the grip within his hands suddenly made the foreboding feeling within his chest ease the tiniest amount. The feeling returned however as he attempted to activate the lightsaber. It gave a sickly sizzle and a sudden _pop_ —and it didn't activate.

"Blast," he muttered. The gauntlets had done their work. In due time, the lightsaber would reset itself and once again provide him with the protection he knew he would need, but for now the silver and black cylinder was simply a useless—albeit expensive—ornamentation. Lips twisted into a frown, he clipped it to his belt. Not even Anakin could fix the 'saber as it was—it simply needed time, and Obi-Wan needed luck.

 _Not luck, the Force._

Once again breathing deep, he released the rest of his fears into the darkness around him. He did not have time to worry about the bounty hunter now. He needed to find a way out of these mines. _Preferably_ before _my former apprentice hears about it._ He didn't need another reason for Anakin to gloat.

He reached down and snatched out a glowrod from his belt, as well as his comlink. Snapping the light against his knee to activate the dim light, he fiddled with the comm.

"Cody? Commander, this is General Kenobi. Come in, please."

A mushy hiss answered his call. He attempted to reach Cody again with the same result. "Blast," he muttered again, wishing for once he had Anakin here to use a more . . . appropriate Huttese curse. Obi-Wan _knew_ those words and probably more—Qui-Gon had believed in a well-rounded education for his padawan—but he would not deign to say them, even such dire straits. But that didn't keep him from wishing.

The Force flowed around him and through him, directing his steps as he set forward. He knew these mines could run for kilometers underneath the surface, twisting and turning and never surfacing. Yet he had the Force, a good sense of direction and—right there—a slight breeze coming from the tunnel on his left.

The going was relatively easy. The tunnel was wide, smooth and flat. Due to the breeze and the prompting of the Force, Obi-Wan knew he would eventually come to another mine opening in the tunnel. He could only hope the opening was all he would find.

He held no illusions about the tenacity of the bounty hunter, however. Money and victory was a bounty hunter's creed, the law they by which they lived, and no bounty hunter would willingly allow their quarry to escape. He knew Malus would need proof of his death to bring to his employer and considering the bounty hunter had not come down into the mine after him . . . he knew he would have to be wary.

Frowning, he shook his head. Something about the bounty hunter had struck him as familiar. The thought slipped through his mind like a sieve, and no amount of grasping could bring it forward. Perhaps he had encountered him before the war? No, he was fairly certain he had never seen the bounty hunter in person before. Instead, it was the way he talked, something about how he acted that bothered Obi-Wan. Raising an eyebrow, he snorted quietly. In reality, it really didn't matter _who_ the man was. All that mattered was that he was trying to kill him.

 _Why is it always me?_ He thought somewhat exasperatedly, then pushed the thought away. Self-pity did not become a Jedi Master. But he could allow himself the slightest twinge of irritation . . .

 _Next time I hope it's Anakin who's running from a darkside Force enhanced bounty hunter . . ._

As he walked, another disturbing thought entered his mind. _How did the bounty hunter know where to find me?_ The Council had been very clear on the secrecy of his mission. No one was to know where he was or what he was doing. _That is, after all, the_ point _of a clandestine mission . . ._ Only his men, the Council, and Anakin knew, and . . .

Abruptly, an emotion Obi-Wan was not very familiar with curled in the pit of his stomach. He breathed in deeply, thrusting the thought away. He needed time to think, to meditate on all the possibilities. To make accusations now on something of that magnitude . . .

He suddenly wished to get off this planet as quickly as he could.

An hour later, Obi-Wan began to see a difference in the light. No longer did the flickering shadows come only from the glowrod he held aloft in his hand. They now had a slight watery quality, as if a pale moon was casting light along with his own.

Ahead, the light trickled into the tunnel from a mineshaft soaring toward the planet's surface. Obi-Wan reached into one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out his grappling hook. A smile ghosted across his face as he recalled Anakin's first introduction to this item of Jedi clothing.

" _This is so wizard!" Anakin's face lit up as he began to search into the various pouches in his newly bestowed belt. "I could survive for days!"_

 _Obi-Wan inclined his head. "That is the idea, Padawan. A Jedi does not have time to always pack before being sent on missions, or missions do not always go as planned. As such, we must be prepared at all times for whatever comes our way."_

 _Anakin glanced sideways at his master as he tugged a grappling hook out of its pouch. "But I thought whatever happens is the will of the Force? Doesn't this," he gestured at the various safety and survival items scattered across their kitchenette table, "kinda go against the Jedi Code?"_

 _Raising a brow, Obi-Wan folded his arms. Anakin had been his apprentice now for less than three months, and there were times he found his new padawan learner's precociousness trying. "The Force is not a nursemaid, Padawan. As Jedi, personal responsibility remains crucial in each mission. Besides," he added, "failing to plan is planning to fail, my young apprentice."_

 _Letting go of the belt, Anakin folded his arms, mimicking his master's stance. "Did Master Yoda tell you that?" he asked impertinently._

 _Obi-Wan smirked. "No," he said slowly. "Obi-Wan Kenobi told me." He felt a full blown smile flicker across his face at his padawan's sheepish look. "You would do well to remember that."_

With one final effort, Obi-Wan flipped himself out of the dark shaft and into the dimming twilight of the moon's surface. Pulling out his comlink, he attempted to reach the _Negotiator_ and Cody once again. And once again, the comlink hissed back in the stillness. "Blasted thing must have gotten damaged in the fall," he muttered, shaking the offending piece of equipment.

Placing the broken comlink back in its pouch, he took a moment to look around him. The surface of the moon seemed different up close, the slags of rock seemed sharper, the terrain seemed grimmer. However, Obi-Wan could see to the north a particular jutting rock that thrust itself into the sky, the tip splitting into a fork that reminded him of the tongue of an Akivan viper. He had seen the rock formation on his flight in and smiled in relief.

The landing bay would be about three kilometers away. He may be trained to survive in all types of weathers and terrains but he was about done with walking for the day—not to mention being shot at by a bounty hunter and falling into mine shafts. He began to pick his way carefully across the rocky and dangerous terrain. Several mine shafts deep in the earth had collapsed years ago, and the resulting deep sink holes lent a particularly interesting facet to his trek.

The first shot came just as his destination was in sight. Even though he was tired, this time it did not take him by surprise. His lightsaber was in his hand and deflecting the blast so quickly it appeared to do so by magic. Dancing away from the barrage, he leapt behind a rocky outcropping.

The grating voice reaching his ears diminished his utter relief at his 'saber's return to working order.

"Miss me, Jedi?" the rasping voice grated through the canyon. Peering from his vantage point, Obi-Wan saw the hunter, as well as fifteen more seeker droids.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. _I'm_ really _beginning to hate this planet._

Then he stepped forward to greet the metallic flood of death heading his way.


	7. Chapter 7

_Cold be hand and heart and bone,_

 _And cold be sleep under stone:_

 _Never more to wake on stony bed,_

 _Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead._

 _In the black wind the stars shall die,_

 _And still on gold here let them lie,_

 _Till the dark lord lifts his hand_

 _Over dead sea and withered land._

—J. R. R. Tolkien

* * *

Chapter Seven

The stars around Bespin shone peacefully in the inky blackness of space, undisturbed by the war raging in the galaxy around them. They simply existed, shining their light to whoever decided to gaze away from their terrestrial bond s and to the sky. It was stars just like these that had prompted the first creatures to relinquish the known to venture into the great unknown. The stars had awoken something deep within their souls, a stirring that could not be satisfied.

These stars had seen everything. The rise and fall of kingdoms, of galaxies, of empires once so strong they were thought they could never end. Individual lives were like a flash, a quickly fading flower, the tiniest speck of ink painted on a tapestry galaxies wide.

Yet one life shone almost as brightly as these stars, a shining, striating, supernova of power. Ordinary eyes could not see this light—only the few blessed by the light itself. But just like a supernova often rifts time and space, turning something beautiful into something so dark, so too was this light edged in darkness.

So while the stars could not see it, that path was being tread, the line in the sand had been drawn millennia ago and one foot was placed firmly on both sides.

That opaque light was streaking toward Bespin's moon, heedless of anything but reaching his destination. It was no longer a want, it was a need—an overwhelming desire to find his former master and pull him out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into, all while lecturing him on how this _really_ was the eighth time he had saved him and it really _was_ becoming a nuisance.

The entire time flying back he had been searching for Obi-Wan in the Force. Bonds between Force sensitives, however deep they ran, were not an exact science. While Anakin could generally feel Obi-Wan's presence when he was near, it was unusual to sense him from parsecs away—except in times of great duress.

Yet, Anakin's connection with the Force was . . . different. Even planets away he could feel his former master if he wished. Not that he often did; Obi-Wan would feel it was an invasion of privacy, not to mention he would find it offensive that his former padawan felt the need to check up on him. The exasperated tone of his friend floated briefly through his mind. _Anakin, I seem to recall that you are my padawan and not the other way around . . ._

No, Anakin never did it often, but it always calmed him to know his former master's calming presence was merely a touch away. Therefore, his nerves still ragged and his mind still searched frantically as they sped toward Bespin. Only rarely did a vision come through the Force so strongly. The continued absence of Obi-Wan scared him, sending a knife of fear straight into his heart.

Thus the sudden _thereness_ , the abrupt return of awareness on Obi-Wan's side caused him to gasp out loud with relief. He was alive, but beyond that . . . he could not tell.

At long last, his ship slipped out of hyperspace and streaked like a falling star toward the moon. Artoo burbled and beeped something at him. "That probably means his comlink is dead," Anakin said in reply. "Don't worry about it, Artoo; I know exactly where he is."

And he did. As bright as Anakin burned in the Force, Obi-Wan matched him lumen by lumen. His signature was more subtle, like the warmth of a glowing sunray caressing an upturned face, yet by no means did that mean he was less powerful. His former master never admitted it; in fact Anakin sometimes wondered if he even _knew_. Deep down, he admitted to himself that _that_ is where some of his anger toward his friend came from—jealousy. It was almost laughable that he, Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One would be jealous of someone else, but in the darkest depths of his soul he knew it to be true. Obi-Wan possessed power, and people loved him for it. Anakin had that same power—more, even—and people feared him for it.

But now, that light guided him, calling him like a flame set high upon a hill, like a beacon in the night. He flew straight and true, his mind and eyes searching for his friend.

 _There._

The lengthening shadows lent an eerie quality to the flashing colors of the battle raging below him. The fiery red of the blaster bolts clashed with the electric blue of Obi-Wan's spinning lightsaber, skillfully deflecting shot after shot.

 _Obi-Wan, I leave you for all of five hours and this is what happens?_

For a brief second, he considered blasting the droids surrounding his former master with his starship, then immediately reconsidered. The blasts would be incredibly powerful and the accuracy limited—and he couldn't afford to miss.

"Artoo, get me right over Obi-Wan," he ordered, already moving. "Then get yourself to a safe place." In one swift move, he popped the cockpit hatch and leapt out into whistling wind. He ignored Artoo's frantic bleeps and whistles, focusing on balancing on the wing of his fighter. A feral grin broke out on his face as they skyrocketed toward the fray, his eyes glued on the form of his friend.

This was what he did, saving people.

It was his destiny.

Flipping silently in the air, he sliced a droid on his decent, landing directly behind Obi-Wan's back. "What did I tell you, Master?" he whooped over his shoulder, deflecting another round of blaster bolts. "I definitely think this counts as the _eighth_ time I've rescued you!"

Lightsaber never faltering, Obi-Wan barely deigned to glance in his former padawan's direction. Nevertheless, his disbelief resonated through their bond and his blue-grey eyes betrayed his surprise. "For the _record,_ Anakin, I had it under control!" he growled, dancing to the side. "This doesn't count!"

Anakin grinned fiercely. _He would say that_. "Now, now Master, what have we said about denying the facts?"

"It will only be a fact _once_ I am actually "rescued," my young friend!"

Even as they fought and bantered, both men slipped easily into his customary position to guard the other's back. Because this is where they belonged—fighting side by side, like brothers. Apart they were powerful but together . . . they were unstoppable.

"So what's the plan?" Anakin asked, spinning to keep a blaster bolt from striking him in the shoulder.

"Plan?" Incredulousness rang in Obi-Wan's voice. "I thought _you_ were the one doing the rescuing!"

"Well, I _am_ rescuing, we just need to figure out the details!"

Obi-Wan didn't answer as he flipped and sliced another droid, trusting Anakin to cover his flank. His breath was becoming labored and Anakin could feel his pain from previous injuries beginning to demand attention. _Really, Obi-Wan, we've talked about this . . ._

Behind them, Artoo had landed Anakin's starfighter below the hangar and to the right of their position. Anakin caught sight of him peripherally as he flew up to the open hangar.

"We can't take your fighter, it only carries one person!" Landing, Obi-Wan gestured quickly to his right and upwards, to where the sides of the open hangar could be seen about half a kilometer away. "I have a frigate in that hangar over there; it can carry both of us."

"We're _running_ , Master?" If there was one thing Anakin hated more than meditation, it was running from a fight.

" _Not_ running, Anakin." The exasperation was clear. "We are living to fight another day!"

Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but at that very moment another figure appeared, blasting at the Jedi from an outcropping in the rocks above them. Anakin barely caught a glimpse of him as he began his barrage. "What in the nine hells—who the kriff is _that?_ " Anakin swore as he spun and dipped, deflecting the blasts into another droid, sending sparks into the air as it crashed to the ground.

"Language, Anakin! And I have no idea; he's been hunting me all day!"

Anakin was taken aback. "All _day?_ Master—" Before he could finish his comment, a sudden chill slithered into his consciousness. There was no mistaking the sickly burning within his bones provoked by the Dark side.

 _I know that presence._

"Jahut Malus," he growled, his eyes flashing. "He's bounty hunter scum! I ran into him months ago on Ryloth. He killed anyone who got in his way—including children." The tang of death still rose in his mouth at those memories, grey clouds of ash from mindless death for mere fortune. But in war, justice truly is blind, and senseless deaths of a few became outweighed in the grand scheme of destruction threatening the galaxy. And for him to be here, now . . . the implications tangled and snarled their way through his mind. "Why is he after you?"

Even exhausted, Obi-Wan managed an impressive eye roll. "If I knew would it _matter?_ " Just as the last word left his mouth, he suddenly cried out and sank to one knee, still defending both of them.

"Obi-Wan!" Fear snaking down his spine, Anakin doubled his own efforts, force pushing two droids into one of the sinkholes around them. He could feel Obi-Wan clamping down on his pain through their bond, and knew the wound wasn't serious, but that didn't stop the sudden fire to flare up in his soul.

 _It's time for this to end._ He had seen where the blast had come from, and there was no way he was letting Malus get away _now_.

"I'm going after him."

"Anakin, no, he has—!" But the rest of his mentor's words were lost in the thrumming of his ears and the anger in his heart.

He had fought Malus before, he was formidable, but he was no match for Anakin. In three large leaps he bounded up the side of the jutting rocks until he landed on the same outcropping as Malus. Landing gracefully in a crouch, his lightsaber was already a blur of motion to deflect the shots fired at him from several feet away.

The narrow ledge proved to be his downfall. He found his range of motion severely limited, his lightsaber dragging as it carved deep furrows into the surrounding rock. Before he could disarm Malus the bounty hunter hurled himself at the young Jedi. For any normal bounty hunter, such a move would have spelled doom. But Malus, untrained in the Force though he was, used what skills he had to power into the lighter Jedi, knocking them both of the ledge and into the air.

The fall was short. Reinforced duralloy met human flesh as both men crashed onto Anakin's yellow starfighter below. Momentarily stunned, Anakin sensed rather than saw the bounty hunter reaching for his weapon beside him. Acting on instinct, Anakin kicked out, smashing the bounty hunter in the knee. With a cry of pain his knee crumpled.

That second was all Anakin needed. Arching his back, he vaulted to his feet, igniting his lightsaber as he did so. The tip of the humming blade stopped centimeters from Malus' throat. Chest heaving, the bounty hunter's eyes looked flinty as he glared at the young Jedi.

"Alright _sleemo_ ," Anakin rumbled, his own eyes glinting, blood singing hot and red from the fight. "Who hired you?"

The bounty hunter leered at him, his lips curling into a snarl. Anakin pressed in, the heat of his 'saber singing the hair on Malus' neck. "Who. Hired. You?" Anger churned in his heart.

The bounty hunter opened his mouth—then raised his blaster and fired. It happened so fast that for the briefest of seconds Anakin's concentration waivered as he dodged to the side. The gloating thought _he missed_ quickly transmuted into _oh kriff_ at the realization of where the bolt was heading.

 _Really? Again?_ Between one breath and the next he turned and hurtled himself off of the fighter, the explosion from the ignited fuel propelling him forward. The explosion ripped his deactivated lightsaber from his hand as he flew through the air towards the dusty ground. Dimly he was aware of its trajectory, following it with his eyes as it bounced along the ground—

—and into a mine shaft.

He landed less than gracefully, attempting an awkward roll with his momentum. Dread shot through him. Coming to a stop, he groaned to himself. _Obi-Wan is going to_ kill _me!_

Of all the lessons impressed upon him by his former master, none had made more of an impact. He could hear Obi-Wan's Coruscanti accent echo through his mind. _This lightsaber is your life, my very young apprentice!_

"Anakin!" Through the smoke and his own confusion he felt rather than saw his former master racing toward him. "Catch!" As his friend rushed by him he deflected one last blaster bolt from the remaining five droids before tossing his own lightsaber toward Anakin. Surprise almost caused Anakin to miss the hilt flying toward him, and a tug of the Force brought it to his hand.

Even from his position on the ground Anakin could see Malus was struggling. Perhaps he had miscalculated the explosion radius, but his jetpack was faltering and he could see where his left arm hung limply against his side. Gathering the Force around him, Obi-Wan leapt into the air, colliding with the bounty hunter where he hovered above the ground. The midair impact carried the two men into the open hangar and out of Anakin's sight.

 _What is he doing!?_ The weight of his friend's weapon rested heavy in his hands. The unfamiliar feel drew his attention down, his eyes skimming the silver and black cylinder. A lightsaber is a Jedi's most precious—if not only—possession.

Dread abruptly coiled tighter in the pit of his stomach.

The remaining seeker droids thwarted his desperate urge to follow his master and Malus into the hangar above him. Igniting the humming sapphire blade, he turned to make quick work of the remaining droids. Blade flashing, his mind fixated on the possibilities taking place above him. Obi-Wan had been hurt. He had been fighting and running all day, he was exhausted.

 _What could he have been thinking?_

It always surprised him when people thought of him as the reckless one, the one who jumped into fights without a second thought if it meant saving someone else, the one who gave no regards to his safety while fighting for what he believed in. Where exactly did they think he got it from? Obi-Wan may exude serenity and a façade of "perfect Jedi,"—because it was a façade. After all he _did_ have Qui-Gon Jinn as his master—a legacy he proved again and again. He still remembered being a brand new apprentice watching his master duel others in the Temple with wide eyes, feeling both awe and pride that Obi-Wan Kenobi was _his_ master, and his alone. To tell the truth, he idolized his former master. Yes, he may annoy him incessantly, but in the end there was no one to whom he looked up to more, no one whom he regarded as highly.

The Force seethed around him, surging and undulating to his will. A visceral cry exploded from him, sending a shock wave of power into the droids. Their metallic bodies were nothing against that power; exploding parts skittered and sparked, collapsing into the dust.

Without sparing a backwards glance, Anakin bounded toward the open hangar and to where he had last seen his friend.

* * *

Obi-Wan knew he should not have been surprised. To be completely honest, if he was surprised at all, he was surprised _that_ he was surprised. Anakin Skywalker, _not_ listening to direct orders from anyone, let alone the C _hancellor_ of the _Republic?_

No, of course not. Just another day in the young Jedi's reckless and impetuous life.

By now many would have thought the boy would have outgrown his headstrong nature. But as evidenced by the young man fiercely fighting beside him, protecting his friend with no thought to his own safety—he was very much the same young man who vowed to come back and free the slaves.

Despite his irritation, he felt a warm glow. Despite his many flaws, his friend was aggressively loyal and protective to a fault. And despite his own insistence to the contrary, he knew without his former padawan by his side, he would not have lived as long as he had. They truly were The Team, Kenobi and Skywalker, and their strength consisted of so much more than Jedi principles.

But as the Force was his witness, Anakin would be on the receiving end of a lecture after they got out of this mess.

"So what's the plan?" Anakin's flippant voice floated into his awareness.

"Plan?" Obi-Wan gaped. _Scratch that._ Anakin would _definitely_ be on the receiving end of a _grand_ lecture after they got out of this mess. The incredulousness ringing in his voice would have to do instead of actually glaring at his former padawan. The glaring would come later. "I thought _you_ were the one doing the rescuing!"

"Well, I _am_ rescuing, we just need to figure out the details!"

Obi-Wan barely contained his groan. _I knew I shouldn't be surprised . . ._ He didn't have the patience for this right now. Night was coming upon them, and his former padawan for all his powers could not see in the dark. He was also tired and in pain, his injuries from before screaming for attention. There was only so long he could push the pain down and back and fighting for your life did nothing to help the body heal.

They needed to leave. Something about this whole situation was wrong. _Why had Anakin been pulled away right when a bounty hunter came after me? How did he know I would be here?_ The thoughts leached through his brain and the sickly feeling from before continued to grow.

They could regroup back at _the Negotiator_ and try to understand the motive behind the bounty hunter. He needed to talk to Anakin.

"We can't take your fighter, it only carries one person!" He had seen Anakin's droid land the fighter several hundred feet away. The open sides of the hangar were barely visible in the darkening light. He pointed to them, dodging and deflecting bolts at the same time. "I have a frigate in that hangar over there; it can carry both of us."

"We're _running_ , Master?" Obi-Wan could hear the scorn dripping from Anakin's voice.

" _Not_ running, Anakin." His former apprentice _never_ liked running from a fight. Sometimes that mentality won battles, and other times it simply led to more death. In Obi-Wan's opinion, this time was probably end in the latter. "We are living to fight another day!"

He had barely finished speaking before the bounty hunter once again made an appearance. His barrage of blaster bolts pelted the two Jedi, adding to the hail of shots coming from the remaining seeker droids.

"What in the nine hells—who the kriff is _that?_ " Anakin swore, his pent up frustration building up in their bond as he slashed and fought.

"Language, Anakin!" Obi-Wan scolded, attempting to keep his own frustration at bay. Until the bounty hunter showed up, both Jedi had almost completely destroyed the droids. "I have no idea who he is; he's been hunting me all day!"

Obi-Wan could sense Anakin's surprise and consternation. "All _day?_ Master—" Recognition suddenly flickered across his face.

"Jahut Malus," he growled, his eyes flashing. "He's bounty hunter scum! I ran into him months ago on Ryloth. He killed anyone who got in his way—including children." Remembering, his chest heaved from exertion and anger.

 _I knew he seemed familiar . . ._

Obi-Wan remembered Anakin after that mission. Obi-Wan himself had not witnessed the destruction left behind by the bounty hunter, but had seen what it had done to Anakin, and had mourned with his friend as he described what he had seen. They had both tried to find the bounty hunter after that, but the man knew how to disappear, and the war demanded their attention elsewhere. Before, the death of innocents would not have gone unpunished, but justice had become one of the casualties of the war as well.

Anakin's growl brought him back to the present. "Why is he after you?"

His muscles burned. The added barrage from Malus was proving to be tiresome. He could feel himself slowing, his concentration slipping just like the blaster bolts past his lightsaber. Still, he managed to roll his eyes at his former padawan's vehemence. No matter how many times he lectured about Jedi reserve the young man simply seemed to disregard it. "If I knew would it _matter?_ "

Yet that split second slip in concentration resulted in misfortune. The shooting pain of a blaster bolt skimming his arm seared into his consciousness. He cried out as he momentarily stumbled, his already exhausted body demanding relief. Blackness sparkled on the edges of his vision, and he found himself fiercely relying on the Force to help him protect them both.

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin's fear was evident in his voice and through their bond.

 _Fear leads to anger . . ._ _Oh Anakin._ But his alarming thoughts were pushed away at Anakin's next words.

"I'm going after him."

 _The gauntlets!_ Obi-Wan forced himself to his feet, turning just in time to see his friend leap toward Malus, a snarl on his face. "Anakin, no, he has—!" But the younger Jedi was too far away.

 _That lecture has just upgraded to a full-blown scolding,_ Obi-Wan thought grimly to himself. _If we actually manage to leave this Force forsaken moon._ Their combined prowess often proved to be undefeatable, yet all strengths had weaknesses, and Obi-Wan knew for the two them, it was each other. Anakin's reckless behavior often manifested in reaction to his fear for his former master, much to Obi-Wan's vexation. Yet he knew deep down he was a hypocrite, as he would do anything for his former apprentice.

The starfighter explosion rocked the ground, sending fire and heat and a deluge of superheated metal shards into the air. Obi-Wan took it all in with once glance. He saw his friend leap and twist in the air before colliding with the ground. He saw his lightsaber fly from his hand and disappear down a mine shaft. _Anakin, what have I always_ told _you?_ He saw the bounty hunter get thrown by the explosion as well. And he knew what he had to do.

His lightsaber would be no use against the bounty hunter. One touch to the gauntlets and both Jedi would be without a weapon and without a way to defend themselves against the droids. In the dim light Obi-Wan could see the bounty hunter was wounded and struggling with his jetpack, the sputtering jets quickly losing power and altitude. However, the bounty hunter had recognized their escape route, and was heading toward the hangar.

Without a second thought, Obi-Wan raced toward his still tumbling friend. "Anakin!" he called. "Catch!" His lightsaber flew lazily through the air, flipping end over end as it arced toward Anakin. His former padawan could easily finish off the remaining droids as long as he kept Malus occupied.

Gathering the Force around him, he leapt into the air, sailing toward his target. Colliding violently with Malus, their momentum carried them both into the hangar itself.

While Obi-Wan might not have his lightsaber, he did have his fists.

Jedi were trained in all types of combat from a young age. Padawan learners studied the basics of hand-to-hand combat and were encouraged to know how to defend themselves in all types of situations. Obi-Wan knew the basics and various bar fights and unruly brawls throughout his own apprenticeship and that of his padawan had taught him the rest. A Jedi did not seek out a fight, but that did not mean fighting for the right reasons was wrong.

Both men crashed to the floor, sliding to a stop by the far wall. Malus had lost one of his blasters in the explosion, and his left arm hung useless at his side. However Obi-Wan wasn't in much better shape. His ribs and wrist screamed in pain and his legs felt like lead as he staggered to his feet. He still felt a grim satisfaction as he landed a solid punch to the bounty hunter's face. The man grunted and spat blood. Rage poured from him as he turned back to Obi-Wan, his teeth coated with blood as he snarled.

Obi-Wan danced around his high kick and ducked under a swinging right cross. Feinting to the left, he responded with a kick of his own, catching Malus on his wounded arm. The man roared in pain.

His own response was quick. He could mask his intentions with the little Force ability he had, and the swirling cloying pull of the Dark side coiled around and through the room, clouding Obi-Wan's already tired senses. Malus hurled himself at the Jedi, once more swinging wildly with his right arm toward Obi-Wan's face. But at the last moment he shifted his trajectory and drove his fist into Obi-Wan's cracked ribs.

Air exploded out of lungs as the pain threatened to pull him under. He collapsed to his knees, wheezing as he tried to gasp in precious oxygen. His vision wobbled and swam, his eyes refusing to focus on the form of the bounty hunter standing over him.

"Time to die, Jedi," Hot, fetid breath washed across his face. The bounty hunter stepped back and took aim. Obi-Wan only had time for one thought.

 _Anakin_ —

A pulsating light, a swirling rage, a call of fear and of love rushing through their bond.

 _Master!_

The blurred form in front of him disappeared in a flurry of blue light, the sapphire blade deflecting the blaster bolt millimeters away from his heart.

His friend stood in front of him, a wall of protection, a specter of retribution. Dark blue eyes flashed dangerously under a tangle of sweaty dark blond curls, wrath marking deep lines into his face. His mouth didn't move, for there were no words to say. With that one shot, the bounty hunter's doom had been sealed. With a wordless snarl, Anakin leapt toward Malus.

 _No!_ Obi-Wan's silent cry came too late. Anakin slashed at the bounty hunter's head with speed and strength born of fear. Such a blow would have meant death for any other being in the galaxy. But with shocking speed and strength of his own Malus raised his arms, catching the blade marked for his death against the gauntlets on his forearms.

For the second time in so many hours, the thrumming blade vanished into oblivion. Such was the strength behind Anakin's blow that the lack of contact sent the young Jedi reeling. He stumbled forward, his surprise and indignation evident on his face before the iron fist of the bounty hunter crashed down on the back of his head.

Anakin collapsed to his hands and knees, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Air rasped from his chest and blood dripped from a newly opened gash below his hairline. Both men were so close Obi-Wan could almost reach out and touch the sweat stained tunics of his friend where he knelt on the floor. Obi-Wan could still feel his own wounds screaming for attention, their siren call luring him into the darkening edges of unconsciousness. But the fierce compulsion of protection resonated within him, setting his blood alight. Nothing could have kept him from seeing the glint in the bounty hunter's eyes and the hand aiming the blaster at the back of Anakin's head.

It was as if all the years and responsibility of the totality of the Jedi crashed and collided together in a surging wave, a call of duty and the life cry of the Force. It assaulted his senses, swirling and pulling and surging and calling to him.

 _His midi-chlorians are off the scale, not even Master Yoda's are that high . . ._

 _Promise me, Obi-Wan, you will train the boy . . ._

 _He is the Chosen One . . ._

 _I do . . . care about you . . ._ _I would not change those years spent with you for anything in the world . . ._

 _You will be a Jedi, I promise . . ._

Seeing what was to come, Obi-Wan realized he had a choice. _We all must choose what to do with the time that is given us._ Obi-Wan Kenobi chose.

A body moved.

A finger twitched.

A blaster fired.

The smallest gasp escaped from Obi-Wan's mouth as he looked down at the smoking hole in his chest.

And an answering gasp of abject horror from Anakin as he saw what had happened. _"No!"_

Obi-Wan swayed for a moment before his legs buckled beneath him. His knees hit the floor, a jarring sound in the sudden quiet. Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin, lips parted, his eyes bright. "Well, this can't be good," he breathed. Then his eyes slid closed and he crumpled to the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

_So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—_

" _Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."_

" _It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."_

" _Yes, that is so," said the fox._

" _But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince._

" _Yes, that is so," said the fox._

" _Then it has done you no good at all!"_

" _It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields."_

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

* * *

Chapter Eight

Anakin remembers that day perfectly—that day when he had first wished for time to freeze. Even now if he closes he eyes, he can feel the heat of the twin Tatooine suns beating down on this face, the sting of the sand hitting his skin, the smell of his home he shared with his mother.

 _"Mom! Mom! Look what Watto let me have!" Eight-year-old Anakin bounded through the low door, excitement radiating from his movements._

 _"Anakin! What are you doing home early? Did something happen?" Shmi Skywalker's face looked fearful as she knelt in front of her young son._

 _Anakin rapidly shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that. Take a look at this!"_

 _Behind him, pieces of what could have possibly been a droid at one point rested on a hovercart._

 _"Oh Ani, that's wonderful!" Shmi smiled at her son's enthusiasm. "But what is it?"_

 _"It's a protocol droid, Mom. I'm gonna fix him up for you, to help you around the house!" His mother's smile was all the encouragement he needed._

 _Anakin could hardly believe how lucky he was. In the rough life he led with his mother, the smallest events brought joy into their lives. Getting out early, finding a wizard droid, making his mom happy—there could never be another day as happy as this._

 _That night he stared up at the stars, imagining all the different beings who lived and loved on their own planets—beings who were free. He glanced behind him, seeing his Mom in their house, hearing her hum a lullaby as she finished her work._

 _Overwhelmed, he tipped his face back toward the stars and wished with all his heart that he could freeze time forever in that moment, to make it stay the same forever and ever, perfect and unbroken._

With all his heart Anakin pled desperately for the same wish now. For time to stop and freeze just for a moment. Because maybe then he could change fate, alter destiny, save the man who meant the galaxy to him.

Time was his captor, his tormentor, and the mere milliseconds between death and life afforded him no mercy. Those seconds divided time into _before_ and _after._ Before, when all was right and good and whole, and after, when his world shattered into a million irrevocable shards. Time stops for no man, even one as powerful as Anakin Skywalker. Not even the visceral scream of denial or the shockwaves of agony and rage into the Force, not even all the power contained in the Chosen One could stop the inevitable from happening.

Anakin could not breathe. It was as if the blaster bolt had punched a hole through his own chest, drilling through flesh and bone and destroying his heart. In that moment his whole world became a collapsing star with tunnel vision only for his master. He did not take the time to register why, why Malus left Anakin alive, why he did not finish the job. In the back of his mind he sensed Malus' triumph as he fled. Yet right then he did not care if the coward fled, if he lived or died. _I will find you. You will pay._ A desperate promise flung into the night, a challenge that would not go unanswered.

Now, he just needed to get to Obi-Wan. It seemed to take hours, days, _years_ before he finally made it to his master's side.

"Hey! Hey, Obi-Wan, look at me!" His panicked breaths studdered in his throat. His frantic hands fluttered over Obi-Wan's form, pressing his metallic hand over the wound in his chest while using the other to gently lift his master's head and cradle it in his lap. Fear, panic, but above all guilt warred for dominance in his soul. _This is my fault, it's not supposed to be like this!_ Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was panicking, _knew_ it was not proper for a Jedi to react this way but he _kriffing_ did not care.

His mentor's eyes fluttered open, filled with pain but extraordinarily clear. Anakin had never noticed the depths of his eyes before, like a blue sky breaking out from behind grey clouds. _Why have I never noticed them before?_

Obi-Wan's body trembled in Anakin's arms, tiny infinitesimal shudders that bespoke of intense pain. Anakin could feel it. A thundering agony that demanded complete focus, a spiraling darkness that beckoned. Yet upon seeing Anakin an expression of relief masked the pain for a moment. "You're . . . not wounded?"

Anakin laughed, a terrible choking sound, his throat closing even more than before. "You're asking me?"

"Always," Obi-Wan smiled then gasped, shifting agitatedly to look around the hangar. "Malus. Where . . .?" He suddenly hissed in pain, stopping his bodily movements as he closed his eyes, clenching his teeth.

"He's gone," Anakin said shortly, barely sparing the time to think about where he was going. "Obi-Wan, you're- you're hurt pretty bad . . ." His voice sounded strange and thick in his throat. He felt rage drowning his thoughts, and he pushed it away. He couldn't afford to start to fall into a spiral he didn't know he could stop once he started.

Opening, Obi-Wan's eyes wandered down to his damaged body, taking in his bloodied and singed garments. "Yes, apparently," he whispered dryly. "You know, I have always thought blasters were so uncivilized . . ."

"This isn't a _joke_ Master!" Anakin exploded. "What the kriffing _boshuda_ were you thinking?" His fear fueled his anger. Obi-Wan's wounds from before were extensive, but when he looked at the gaping hole under his hand . . . _oh Force._ The superheated bolt had cauterized most of the wound, but such a terrible shock to a body could not completely eliminate the bleeding. Bile rose in his throat at the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh. He had seen many wounds throughout the years, Force, probably numbering in the millions. He knew the damage such a wound could inflict upon internal organs and tender flesh. He had seen too many of his troops fall to the ruthless barrage of mindless destruction from the Separatists droids, had clenched his fists in anger as the singed and burnt bodies were carried past by their fellow men. But he had always been able to approach the situations objectively; it had not been nearly as personal.

But this . . . he was no healer, and the person cradled in his arms was no clone. His heart jumped and stuttered as fear gleefully attempted to devour his mind.

"I was following your example . . . trying to even the scor _-ahh!_ " Obi-Wan's attempt at levity failed as the last words ended in a stifled cry and the small tremors intensified. Anakin could feel himself begin to panic even more than he already was. _Kriff, kriff_ , _this is so beyond bad._ Where in the nine _hells_ was Cody? Obi-Wan gritted his teeth but his shields were flickering, his pain leaking out into their bond.

Yes, he had seen wounds like this before. Anakin could feel its intensity, cells and synapses and nerves screaming for aid. A body that could not withstand the assault upon it, a badly damaged body crying for release.

 _How could this be happening? This couldn't be happening!_ "Please Obi-Wan, just shut up, okay? This isn't a joke."

Struggling to take in breaths, Obi-Wan still managed the energy to roll his eyes. Even wounded, Obi-Wan's legendary stubbornness demanded he not take such an attitude from his padawan. "I thought . . . I was the one who—who scolded."

"Yeah well, maybe you should finally have a taste of your own medicine."

Obi-Wan's face was pale, so pale. It reminded Anakin of the snow on Hoth when his master and himself had been sent on a mission there before the war. A simpler time, a _happier_ time, when all they had to worry about was the casual interplanetary struggle or when they would have their next argument.

"Ana . . . Anakin," Obi-Wan's soft but urgent voice cut through his fear. "I think something about this whole mission . . ." he shifted restlessly in Anakin's arms. "Remember Geonosis? Dooku said . . . said something about a Dark Lord controlling the Senate . . ." His chest shuddered and dipped under Anakin's hand as he attempted to pull air into his lungs.

"Shhhh, Master, please—" Anakin attempted, but was cut off by Obi-Wan's listless shaking of his head. "No, Anakin, please listen. It's-it's important." Fighting through the pain Obi-Wan continued, "How . . . did Malus know where to find me? Why were you asked t-to leave?"

Anakin felt ill. He stared at his master, his mind refusing to process what was happening. It seemed like he was stuck in a thick fog, and anywhere he looked he couldn't see the light. "What're you _saying_?" he whispered, his voice coming out blurred and almost drunk.

Obi-Wan's eyes began to drift, the lids threatening to slip over grey irises, the once shuddering breaths slowing to smaller pants. "There's someone high up, someone with power . . . Anakin, you need to be _careful_." A pained exhalation escaped parted lips and a small trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, jewel red against the white skin.

Anakin's panic spiraled once again, all thoughts of dark lords and spies soaring from his mind. "See Master, you need to be quiet! Why don't you _listen_ to me for once?" His own lips trembled as he continued to press his hand against the deep wound. Futile, he knew, but he could not sit around and do _nothing_.

Obi-Wan breathed a small laugh. "I thought . . . I was no longer your master?"

Anakin swallowed bile rising in his throat. "You'll always be my master," he rasped through gritted teeth.

A slight shake of Obi-Wan's head caused Anakin's heart to clench. Slowly, inexplicably, Obi-Wan reached up to his former apprentice's face, gently trailing his fingers over the scar given to him by Ventress . . . Force, was it really three years ago now?

"Anakin . . ."

Anakin shook his head violently, his metallic hand still trying to stem the precious red liquid staining cream and black tunics alike. His human hand shifted Obi-Wan's body closer to his chest. _Maybe if he held on tighter, no one could take him away_. "No Obi-Wan, stop. Just . . . _stop._ Okay? You need to save your strength." He was blabbering; his minded working in spasms as he tried to find a way out of this nightmare. "Cody will be here soon, we'll get you into a bacta tank and you'll be fine, you'll see . . ."

Obi-Wan breathed another small laugh, his famous smile gracing his pained features. "Anakin," he started again. _Kriffing bastard still trying to tell me what to do . . ._ "You know it's too late."

"No!" Anakin snarled, a red haze seeping in his mind. His chest heaved as his mind recognized the inevitable but refused to believe it.

 _All things die Anakin Skywalker. Even the stars burn out._

"Anakin, please," his former master's calming voice broke through the red haze and pain stabbing into his heart equal to the plunge of million vibroblades. Obi-Wan lifted his hand again, and this time gently cupped his friend's cheek. "I think, perhaps, this is my destiny. My part of the prophecy. To die for you, Anakin, is something I gladly do."

At those words, Anakin's throat closed completely. The tears finally slid from his eyes, cutting clean tracks in the filth on his face. "I don't want you to die for me," he whispered fiercely. He gently carded his fingers through Obi-Wan's auburn hair, his thumb brushing his forehead. A desperate benediction, wishing with all his might that somehow he could deceive death and convince it to pass them by, return some other day, some other life.

"Master," Anakin choked. _Oh Master what have I done? "_ I….I _can't…"_

That smile again, and Obi-Wan's devastatingly clear eyes locked onto blue. Anakin had seen many of Obi-Wan's looks over the years, but no force in the galaxy could have made him look away from the intensity flashing in his eyes, the unreserved trust reflected in them. "You _can._ Anakin . . . promise me."

Abruptly he gasped, agony flashing across his face. His bloodstained hand gripped the front of Anakin's tunic shakily. His eyes suddenly appeared to lose their focus, but his voice demanded complete attention. "Promise me . . . you'll stay in the light."

Tears trembled on Anakin's lashes, physical manifestations of remorse and grief dripping into Obi-Wan's disheveled auburn hair. "Not without you. Obi-Wan, I don't know if I can."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No death . . . the Force." He breathed a small smile, no harshness in his words. "I'll . . . always be with you. Promise me, please?"

Anakin had never heard such disquiet in his master's voice before, the desperate pleading. He didn't know if he could promise him this though—to continue on, without Obi-Wan's guidance, without his solid anchoring in the Force, the light that showed him the way? How could he ask this of him? How could he _do_ it?

But he would try. For Obi-Wan, he would _try_.

The thousand fold fault lines within his soul starting to crumble, Anakin could only nod. His mind seemed to descend into a haze of uncomprehending, the world around them fading until only himself and Obi-Wan were the only beings in existence. He focused the last of his mental reserves on the one thing that ever brought him comfort. Obi-Wan's signature, usually burning so bright it rivaled Anakin's own was now a mere flicker in the Force. _This cannot be happening._

Anakin suddenly felt Obi-Wan's head lolling to the side and saw his eyes begin to flutter shut. Panic shot through him, the dragon within rearing its head and bucking its chains. "No, no, no, Obi-Wan! _Please._ " He no longer knew who he was begging, but he sent out his heartbreaking request to any and all beings listening.

Using the last of his strength, Obi-Wan focused his gaze on him one last time. "You are my brother Anakin, and I . . . love you."

Time and the universe seemed to freeze. It was just them, just them, and if Anakin could have frozen time in that moment he would have done it forever. Because in that moment his universe was okay, it was whole. _He_ was whole. His heart only beat for two people in the galaxy—how could he continue with only half a heart?

But before he could even fathom a reply, gather his mind from the far corners of the galaxy and find his way through the fog of agony and fear and guilt surrounding him to answer, his master's eyes gradually closed and his body slowly went limp.

Anakin felt his world collapsing along with the wall keeping the supernova inside. "No!" Both his hands found their way to Obi-Wan's face, his own only centimeters away. _No no no nonono it's not supposed to be this way!_ "Master, please, don't _leave_ me." But the words—useless, meaningless—fell from his lips and spiraled away into the uncaring void, the words tasting like ash tainting the air during a scorching fire.

Suddenly, the Force signature around Obi-Wan seemed to grow brighter, terrifying bright, spiraling off like arms in a galaxy. Anakin felt a surging power, a mighty translucent transcendence in the Force. For the merest of seconds he sat stunned by the sheer amount of _power_ emanating from his former master. A feeling of warmth, of peace, of _joy_ seemed to surround him—then Obi-Wan's presence disappeared from the Force forever. Anakin cried out at the sudden sucking morass, a gaping hole where his master used to be, at the blackness ripping Anakin's heart with it.

And in that moment, Anakin Skywalker's universe shattered.


	9. Chapter 9

_I cannot say, and I will not say_

 _That he is dead. He is just away._

 _With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,_

 _He has wandered into an unknown land_

 _And left us dreaming how very fair_

 _It needs must be, since he lingers there._

 _And you—oh you, who the wildest yearn_

 _For an old-time step, and the glad return,_

 _Think of him faring on, as dear_

 _In the love of There as the love of Here._

 _Think of him still as the same. I say,_

 _He is not dead—he is just away_.

― James Whitcomb Riley

* * *

Chapter Nine

Commander Cody was used to war. He was raised on it, existed in it, bred from his very moment of conception—if what they did on Kamino could be called that—to endure the hardships of combat. He had seen many horrors during his relatively short lifetime. Brothers in more than just arms missing limbs, entire villages destroyed, death, destruction and pain in so many different forms that by now, he was almost completely hardened to it.

Taking orders was also something to which he was accustomed. A clone's duty revolved around obedience, never contradicting, never pausing and never stopping. In this war it was do or die, and the clones were trained to do. It was this way that he sacrificed his life for the Republic, not so much with loyalty, but duty. His way of serving a Republic that didn't care for himself and his brothers and tossed their lives away like so much bantha _poodoo_.

But the Jedi, _his_ Jedi—although he would never admit to thinking that—were different. He might even say his sense of duty went farther for them. Generals Kenobi and Skywalker cared about their troopers' lives and would gladly sacrifice their own for the clones. This demanded respect in the eyes of their soldiers. They may not true Mandalorians, yet their genetic material came from the most feared and respected bounty hunter in the galaxy . . . a man that, while ruthless, understood the importance of honor. And both generals' actions commanded such respect.

The two of them were the ultimate team, two halves of a whole. Nothing could stop those two. Many times a hopeless situation turned around because of the arrival of the two Jedi. They would fight until their dying breath if it meant another life could be saved. And irrational as it seemed, the clones found themselves willing to take risks if it meant those two men would be saved too. Perhaps this went beyond duty and honor, but loyalty had a place in war too.

Yet nothing he had seen prepared him for the sight that met his eyes in that landing bay on Bespin's moon.

His first thought while flying toward the hangar was that multiple grenades must have gone off, so extensive was the damage to the uncountable number of droids leading up to the landing bay. But upon exiting the ship his eyes found their way to the center of the room and, for once in his life, he froze.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, General of the Grand Army of the Republic, the Hero With No Fear, sat crumpled in the middle of the room, cradling the still, silent body of Obi-Wan Kenobi in his arms.

General Skywalker took no notice of the Commander's approach, his awareness taken up completely with the man clasped in his arms. He rocked gently back and forth, his lips soundlessly mouthing words at the fallen man.

Even the Commander knew how firmly the Jedi believed in developing no attachments, and this display chilled him to the bone. He had seen firsthand the young general's tenuous hold to the light. He had seen depths of rage flash in Skywalker's eyes that he had never known to be possible. Sometimes the white hot fury he kept inside escaped, wreaking havoc and death in its wake. So while Cody trusted Skywalker with his life, he was still wary of the darkness within. Many of the troops felt the same way. They knew the depths of loyalty in this young man ran almost as deep as the rage, and would hope upon each mission that the former would outweigh the latter. Everyone knew to fear the power the young general possessed, and simply thanked whatever gods there were that he was on their side.

Yet not everyone feared him. Through it all, a guiding hand had always shown him the way. Sometimes it was a small smile, a touch on the shoulder, a light correction; other times it was a flashing eyes and flashing sabers, two bodies moving as one, knowing the other would protect them. It was a light to counter the darkness, good to counter the evil. It took the leering, annihilating rage and anger, twisting and molding them into something productive and good.

But now, that guiding light was gone. And what Cody saw scared him.

He came to a stop beside the broken pair, his own breaking heart firmly hidden behind his stoic, soldierly visage. General Kenobi had been a good general, a good Jedi, a good man. This war had already taken so many lives, and Cody respected his General considerably. Out of respect, he removed his helmet and tucked firmly under his arm, his shoulders back and at attention, his eyes on the young Jedi. "Sir?" he attempted.

At first there came no indication that the young general had seen him, or even heard him. There was no movement from the man save for the gentle rocking of his body and the carding of his fingers through Obi-Wan's auburn locks. "Sir?"

At length, Skywalker slowly looked up, and once again Cody froze. His eyes . . . Force, his _eyes._ Cody had seen death before, but never had he seen such dead eyes upon a living creature.

The Commander realized they would not be carrying one, but two corpses back to the ship.

"Cody," Skywalker swallowed, finally ceasing his movements. He blinked sluggishly up at him, his eyes glazed and unfocused. While Cody knew he was in shock, he could not shake the perception of how much he looked like a lost child. In a way, he was. The man cradled in his arms was a father, a brother and a friend. To lose such a person . . . Cody dreaded to think of the consequences—for the young Jedi, and the person who committed the crime.

Disquieted, Cody crouched next to the young Jedi. "Sir," he began again, then gently reached out a hand to place it on his shoulder. "We need to take him home."

The general looked back down at the body in his arms. "I know," he answered, his voice a rough hiss of pain.

Standing, Cody gestured to the medic—so helpful in some moments, so useless in others—to bring over the grav-stretcher. Skywalker noted their approached and shook his head. "No, I'll carry him," he whispered again.

Slowly, the young Jedi stood up, staggering under the weight in his arms. The older Jedi was a slight man, but compact—Cody had never ceased to marvel at the amount of strength hidden in the small form. That small, limp form now sagged against his former padawan's chest, one open hand dangling to the side. For a moment Skywalker stood there, motionless, eyes closed. Then, his face frozen and unmoving, he carried the body of his master, his friend, to the stretcher.

The men snapped to attention as he passed. A useless courtesy; the General was dead and had never demanded it anyways. Yet it is not for dead that the living do such things. A lightsaber clipped to Skywalker's belt that Cody recognized as General Kenobi's gently slapped against the young Jedi's side as he walked.

Skywalker reached the stretcher, pausing for one last moment before tenderly setting the body on to it. He swallowed, his face a mask of grief. One trembling hand reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from Kenobi's face, resting there a moment longer. The body required no such comfort now; it was no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, just the form he had been allowed to wear in life. But Cody understood. He recognized the need to perform one last act for a loved one, to hold on to the illusion that everything would be fine for a few moments longer. He lost brothers almost every day, after all.

Skywalker stared for a moment intensely at Kenobi's face, brows drawn, trembling lips pressed tightly together. His eyes were memorizing every aspect, every dip and plane, every smile and frown, a face that comforted and gave correction, creating a memory to be pulled out in times of need.

Then something shifted. Something dark and foreboding, wrathful and cold. The air seemed to snap around Skywalker as his shoulders stiffened and he turned to Cody. His eyes, once so dead, had been replaced by something so much more disturbing. In the depths of his eyes rage and fury sparked, setting his eyes alight like burning embers.

"Where. Is. Malus?" he growled, spitting out the last word as if it were a curse, a profane and vile thing. Cody was not Force sensitive, but even someone completely blind could feel the striations of fury building a thunderstorm of darkness around the young Jedi.

Cody replaced his helmet on his head, vaguely aware of the grav-lift carrying General Kenobi's body being pushed to the awaiting ship behind them. "Sir, the _Negotiator_ reported one ship leaving the atmosphere, but it went into hyperspace before they could launch an attack."

Anakin's face held no trace of the lost child from before. A muscle jumped in his jaw and his fists clenched. "Did they get a lock on where he was heading?"

Cody shook his head. "No sir. However, we've put out an alert. All of the Republic ships will be on the lookout for that bounty hunter scum."

For a moment it looked as though he was going to argue, but they both knew nothing could be done at that point. Instead, he nodded once, sharply. "The second they hear _anything¸_ " he snarled, "inform me immediately." He looked back to the waiting ship, chest heaving. "I am going to make that Sith-spawn son of a vetch wish he had never been born."

The wind caught his tattered and blood stained cloak, whipping it around his ankles in sharp snapping jerks. Irrationally the image of an angel, like the ones rumored to live on the moons of Iego, came to Cody. But this man was no angel. No, he was an avenging demon, a winged devil of rage and vengeance.

Cody was used to war, but this was different. Cold fear slithered down his backbone, and pity for the assassin flitted unexpectedly through his mind. _I've got a bad feeling about this._

Swallowing his unease, he strode after the General to the waiting ship. There would be time enough for concern later. Now, it was time to mourn the dead.

* * *

It had been a week. A week since Anakin Skywalker's world had been irrevocably changed. A week with no word on where the bounty hunter had fled to, a week in which every minute was spent in an attempt to forget. Sleep did not help, sleep led to dreams. His dreams consisted of death and destruction following in his wake, a hurricane of ruin, a tsunami of vengeance. A week without sleep, a week where the blurring moments broke now and then with painful flashes of memory.

Upon hearing that one of their own had fallen, the Council reassigned the mission on Bespin to another Jedi. The war had taken so many of their kind already; they did not have time to mourn. The ability to care about each life had become just another cruel casualty of war. Besides, for them, death was nothing to be mourned, it was rather just another step on a journey. However, they recognized the importance of allowing time of those left behind to adjust to their new reality. While Jedi did not _grieve,_ they acknowledged the imbalance a death caused in the lives of those left behind.

But Anakin did grieve.

Somehow he had no idea where the hours went. He was caught in a cycle of pain and regret. Yet at the same time the days seemed to stretch on to infinity as memory after memory assaulted his mind, each one leaving him broken and shattered. He stalked the hallways in the Jedi Temple endlessly, feverishly avoiding one particular corridor leading to one particular room. He mindlessly worked himself to exhaustion in the training salles. No one dared enter the training room occupied almost constantly by Anakin. The small attempted words of comfort were met with blank eyes and clenched teeth.

There was no comfort, only revenge. With the flickering flames from his master's pyre burning in his own eyes, his soul spiraled away from the light.

Guilt ate away at his soul. Guilt for never telling Obi-Wan about his marriage, guilt about what he said in the command room on _The Negotiator_ , but most of all guilt that he was the cause of Obi-Wan's death. His heart was an open and seeping wound, with the lightest stroke against it resulting in insurmountable agony. _Obi-Wan._ The name, once synonymous with everything good in his life now seemed to turn and impale his soul. To be the one left behind; he could think of no greater hell. That he continued living and breathing while Obi-Wan was frozen in time and memory—it was unthinkable. And the fact that he died for _him_ . . . each time his mind brushed upon that fact his soul dissolved into the dark a little more.

The seventh day _after,_ Anakin suddenly found himself standing in front of the door he had been trying so relentlessly to avoid. It was down a nondescript hallway, the surrounding rooms hushed and subdued. As if sensing his presence, the door swished open. Jedi had no locks; for whom did they have to fear?

The room resembled all the other rooms at the Temple. The main room contained minimal furniture; a couch, several low cushions, a small table. To the right, a small kitchenette sat tucked along the wall. Straight ahead, a large picture window led out onto a balcony overlooking the never-ending Coruscanti traffic. Situated as it was on the west side of the Temple, the red, flaming sunlight from the sunset was just beginning to peek into room, sending streaks of warm red light dancing across the floor. The pollution and the overabundance of chemicals in the atmosphere resulted in spectacular sunsets, setting the sky alight with vibrant colors every evening. Anyone outside the Jedi Order would not be able to tell the difference from this Temple apartment to the next.

But Anakin knew.

Anakin froze, lips trembling. Had it really only been several weeks before that both of them had been sitting in this room, arguing and laughing? Anakin often found himself walking in on his former master right around meal times. Both were renowned for their skill in the kitchen, Obi-Wan forhis skill: Anakin for the lack of it. Thousands of meals had been eaten together in this room, through their good days and bad days, a small island of stability in a galaxy constantly changing.

He forced himself to step inside, flinching at cold chills cascading down his spine as he felt the force signature of the room's occupant.

 _Former occupant,_ his mind cruelly supplied.

He stood in the center of the room, eyes closed. Until just over a year ago, he had lived here as well; it was traditional for masters and apprentices to share an apartment just as they shared everything else. Both of their Force signatures mixed and mingled together, overlapping like strains of music in an orchestra, like beautiful colors in a painting.

So many memories, so many things that would never be again.

 _There._ That singe on the table came from when he accidentally activated his training 'saber after dropping it years ago, nearly burning his own leg in the process. _And there._ That dent in the wall was from when Obi-Wan, feverish and delirious from a wound he had ignored for too long, mistook Anakin for an armed intruder and had attempted to punch him. Only the Force and Anakin's cat-like reflexes had saved him from a broken nose. A fleeting smile played across his face. _Obi-Wan still hasn't gotten that dent fixed?_ Then reality hit him again and the pain returned.

Fingers trembling, he pressed open the release to Obi-Wan's room. The door swished open.

As he stepped inside he was hit by the scent that was only and distinctly Obi-Wan. Throughout the years he could never quite place it; a slight waft of tea and spices, a scent of rough wool, but above all the smell of serenity and peace and home.

It was all he could do to keep from collapsing from the agony of loss. While the outer room may be conformed to Jedi standards, each Jedi was allowed a certain measure of anonymity within their own room. The bed was neatly made, and several datapads rested on the nightstand beside it. A cloak rested on an overstuffed chair where it had been carelessly tossed. An extra pair of boots sat tumbled in the corner.

The desk under the window was chaotically organized, yet several items that Obi-Wan constantly insisted were not possessions rested on the surface. An ornamental stylus he had found in the markets of Vanqor. Some pieces of flimsy with his former master's bold handwriting scribbled across the surface. An amulet gifted to him by a grateful mother on Ryloth. Some holocubes. And on the small night table beside the bed, a bead the color of the deep blue night sky of Naboo. The same bead that had been woven into Anakin's braid, and Obi-Wan's own padawan braid, and the braid of his master before him.

Choking out a pained, wheezing laugh, Anakin reached out and fingered the casually discarded cloak on the chair. Memories floated thick and unwanted like a cold mist.

" _Master, you're almost as famous in the_ _clothing division_ _of the Temple as you are in the Halls of Healing . . . what number cloak are you on now?"_

" _Keeping track of_ clothing items _does not become you, my young Padawan. Since when do you care about my clothing habits?"_

" _Well, I'm just worried about you . . . What will you do when you can't dramatically discard a cloak before a figh—OW! Hey! Doesn't using the Force to hurl pillows at your padawan fall under the "frivolous use" category of the Force?"_

" _Not when said pillow is being used to teach a lesson to an insolent youngling . . ."_

The room, the clothes, the bed . . . they breathed of Obi-Wan. The way the apparent orderliness truly hid what was underneath. Many people thought his former master to be so fastidious, so proper. But Anakin saw the other side, the casual disarray, the selflessness, the humor, the recklessness within him that drove him to feats of bravery even Anakin marveled at. Most people saw the Jedi and not the man. They saw the robes and outward demeanor and missed the kind and courageous heart that beat inside. He could be many things, a master, a Jedi, a negotiator, and a hero. In the blink of an eye he could change from calmly lecturing his padawan on proper Jedi decorum to leaping out a window after an assassin. (That particular feat had has earned him a harsh scolding from both Master Yoda and his padawan.)

With a pained cry, Anakin sank to his knees, twisting his hands in his hair. _There is no emotion, there is peace_. _There is no emotion, there is peace_. _There is no emotion, there is peace_ . . .

"Obi-Wan, how can I believe that?" he gasped into the empty room. "No _emotion?_ It's all I can _feel!_ "

If only, if _only_ he could feel peace, if only he could be serene. If only he could be happy for those who joined the Force. But how could he be happy when he was left behind? There was no harmony in his spirit, only chaos. Obi-Wan was gone, lost to him in the swirling currents of the Force.

No more light jokes and teasing banter, no more sparring with a partner that was like the other half of a whole. Never to hear Obi-Wan's dry humor, see his eyes crinkle, his mouth twitch, laughing within while somehow still maintaining complete Jedi decorum without.

He could not get used to the invisible blow in the chest when he realized he would never again speak to him. Never again feel his soothing presence in the Force, or feel his gentle hand on his shoulder. Force, he would give anything just to hear one more lecture, one more critique, anything to hear his soft clipped tones again.

He would have traded anything, all his tomorrows to have one yesterday with him again.

The memories consumed him. The smell of tea would leave him gasping, a glimpse of blue eyes would leave his soul wrenched and aching. A familiar sounding laugh would cause his head to whip around desperately looking for the source until reality caught up to him and sent him crashing to the ground. He did not know if he would ever move past this, ever be whole again. Every waking moment he remembered the feel of the rough cloth brushing his arm, the warm blood seeping through his fingers, the final tiny exhalation of breath against his cheek. No, there was no getting over holding a person you loved in your arms, seeing them there, but knowing they were gone.

 _There is no death, there is only the Force_. But for Anakin, there was only death. In his dreams it haunted him. He saw Obi-Wan die again and again, each time calling his name, each time too slow, too late, a _failure_.

And that more than anything condemned him. He had made a promise, and he had _failed_.

Force, what was this _pain_? He was drowning in it, falling into its devouring profundity, sinking and tumbling until he no longer knew which way was the surface. He had felt despair and rage when his mother died and the raiders had paid for their transgression. But this, somehow he couldn't get over it, move past it. He had _felt_ Obi-Wan's presence ripped from him, the golden thread binding their souls torn away, leaving him ravaged and broken. It ate him up inside, leaving a hollow shell that only looked like Anakin Skywalker, a mask that hid the emptiness inside.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the precious bead off the night table. The light from the setting sun caressed the surface, setting the glass alight with brilliant blue. A deep cerulean—just like those eyes he would never see again.

Anger and numbness suddenly masked the pain. It was all Obi-Wan's _fault_.

"Where are you? How could you leave?" His voice rose in the still air, the answering silence mocking him. "You promised, you promised when you became my master that you would guide me! Well, I need guidance now, Obi-Wan! You had no right to leave me! You. Had. No. _Right_!"

Leaping to his feet, he sent the entire contents of the desk crashing to the ground with a violent sweep of his arm, fury pressuring pain down into rage and revenge, his promise forgotten with his humanity when Obi-Wan's death took it with him.

The bead rested in his hand, its meaning mocking him. A representation of a cursed lineage. Anakin alone remained.

With a wordless cry, he hurled it against the wall, shattering the delicate glass into a thousand shards.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand to feel the presence of his master when he was no longer there. He couldn't stand to think about the room stuck in time, never being changed by the one who used to live here until everyone moved on, life flowing and changing, forgetting who Obi-Wan Kenobi ever was and never knowing he had ever been born. He couldn't stand knowing that all this—it was because of him.

A sob threatened to rise, but he forced it down and away. Tears had no place in his life. Only vengeance.

But not even black despair or hateful vows for vengeance resonating in the Force had the power to raise one lost into the same. Shadows dancing across the hardening lines in his face, he turned and strode out of the room, never once looking back.

And several kilometers away in the depths of the Senate and swirling dark, yellow eyes gleamed.


	10. Chapter 10

_Some say the world will end in fire,_

 _Some say in ice._

 _From what I've tasted of desire,_

 _I hold with those who favor fire._

 _But if it had to perish twice_

 _I think I know enough of hate_

 _To say that for destruction ice_

 _Is also great_

 _And would suffice._

― Robert Frost

* * *

Chapter Eleven

It was just by chance that they located the bounty hunter.

The months had eaten away at Anakin Skywalker. He is no longer the easy going, loyally dedicated general as before. He seemed darker somehow, his own light diminished. The men in the 212th knew death in every form, but this walking apparition of pain and wrath was new, even for them. Assigned to General Skywalker after their own commander's death, the clones began to see the difference in the man they had grown to respect.

Even in the full light of the bridge, and Cody couldn't suppress cold spike of fear down his spine. For Cody, his brothers and the Republic came first. Yet with General Skywalker; the man had always been unpredictable, and now Cody was beginning to doubt the man's true intentions.

The first month had been difficult for all parties involved. The 212th had been put on standby again and again as their general turned up missing, searching for the bounty hunter called Malus. At each return, the general seemed to collapse in on himself a little more, like a star collapsing into an infinitely dark singularity.

The general had also gotten more reckless. With every disappearance he had been coming back with more wounds. He hid them well, but Cody's keen eyes picked up the slight limp or the careful movements after each departure. Perhaps the wounds were a result of recklessness or simply of neglect. But Cody suspected it was a different reason. The general was fighting half crippled, missing a half that had always been there.

There were also rumors as well at the Jedi Council's displeasure with their Chosen One. Gossip of threats of expulsion for the young Jedi, of being stripped of command filtered its way through the ranks like a sickly vapor. It was just like Anakin to pay them no heed, and he continued his vengeful pursuit.

But something changed after a month and a half of searching. The trail on the bounty hunter had gone cold. No one, from the Outer Rim to the Core worlds, had seen of or heard from the bounty hunter in weeks. He had seemingly disappeared into thin air. The weeks stretched on to months. The general returned to his duties, throwing himself into the campaigns and battles, seemingly dedicating himself completely to the war. The bounty hunter failed to reappear.

But that all changed that fateful day on Stenos.

* * *

Anakin pulled his hood further down over his face, covering his own hooded eyes. The brisk, cold wind caused by the surrounding mountains funneled through the streets of Sentron. Although members of the Republic, the people of Stenos preferred to live simple lives. The capitol city where Anakin found himself was small; the squat buildings in the center city only reached several hundred meters into the sky.

Anakin strode through the narrow, winding streets, a scowl deepening the lines on his face and the hollows under his eyes reflected the hollowness within them. He despised this type of mission. Pointless, useless, an utter waste of time.

The informant he had just met had claimed to possess important information regarding Separatist movement in the area. Believing himself to be watched, he refused to transmit the information, instead insisting on being met by a Jedi. Against his wishes and their own better judgement, the Council requested Anakin to meet the informant and determine the validity of the information due to his proximity to the planet.

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The information had proved to be weeks old, completely useless.

The wind whipped at his clothes, causing him to tug once again at the hood and to pull the edges of the cloak tighter around himself. These days, enemies were everywhere, lurking in the shadows. The people of Sentron may tolerate the Republic, but their feelings for the Republic's guardians ran in completely the opposite direction. No one quite knew where their hatred for the Jedi originated. Yet no matter where it came from, it ran deep and intense, a shared hatred a planet wide. Anakin felt strange dressed in clothing other than his normal robes, yet felt a small sense of comfort at the weight of Obi-W—of the lightsaber at his belt.

 _The lightsaber._ Not Anakin's, never Anakin's.

He didn't allow himself to think about Obi-Wan, not anymore. It was too raw, too painful. Somehow his mind knew, screaming at the injustice, trying to express the damage he was doing to himself. Memories need to be shared. But it was something he had to do, a necessity to function. Just like the blast doors sealing against a bulkhead breach stealing precious oxygen from within, so too his mind closed the door on those thoughts the day he walked out of his former master's room. He couldn't think about what he had lost and still be able to function normally. So he pushed it down and away, locking the memories away in their own corner of his mind, letting the pressure simmer and build until the day he found the bounty hunter. But by the Force . . . on that day, all hell would break loose.

So instead, he functioned with half a heart and half a soul, slipping behind his mask of Jedi while hiding the dragon within.

Boots crunching in the dirt and snow, he slowly wound through the streets to the outskirts of town. Lost in thought, he felt rather than saw his way through the maze of passageways and meandering crowds of pedestrians, vehicles, and creatures. Artoo would be waiting with his fighter to leave this place. He had been told the 212th was being recalled to Coruscant, allowing them to resupply before another extensive campaign in the Outer Rim. Anakin was glad. They deserved rest after their trials of the last months. Many, he recognized with a flash of contrition, were because of his . . . excursions.

Besides, Coruscant meant Padmé. Now, more than ever, he felt the need to be near his wife. His mind still reeled and balked as he recalled what she told him at their last communication. How could it be possible . . . to think that they . . .

 _I'm pregnant, Ani. We are going to be parents._

He couldn't deal with that right now. Not so soon after—

No. For he had just lost the one who fulfilled the roll of _his_ father, his brother, his guiding hand in the twists and turns of life. The knowledge that he would soon be a father caused a wild shift in his already precarious stability. To think that _he_ now needed to fulfill that roll for someone else, let alone the very complications the birth of said baby would bring upon both of them, his mind stopped when he thought about it.

But if he was frightened, he knew Padmé must be terrified. He could push the thought of their future out of his mind when he desired, choosing to focus on his tasks on hand. But Padmé, she had to live every moment acknowledging the growing life within her.

A flash of guilt spiked in his gut. He knew he hadn't been very present in the last few months. His grief and all-consuming desire for vengeance lurked like a shadow between them, a dark specter in the halls, dampening their relationship. But no matter what people said, he was not ready to just . . . _move on_.

The feeling was sudden, like the slightest ray of sunlight caressing his cheek, a brush of laughter against his mind. Not solid, but rather so nebulous and amorphous that it was almost like a whisper of a bird's wing. But it was there . . . _was it there?_ And so achingly familiar that he choked.

Anakin jerked to a stop, his heart thundering in his chest, his legs all but collapsing in paroxysm. He cast his eyes around the crowed street, searching, searching, his heart screaming for an answer.

None came.

It was his own imagination, his own desperate wish to have what was lost returned to him that caused him to picture what he wanted to see. He knew that, he _knew_ it, but with all his heart he didn't want to believe it.

Eyes and heart still straining into streets so achingly devoid of the one being for whom he searched, Anakin suddenly found himself tumbling to the ground amid a flurry of wheels and feet.

"Watch where you're standing, _bantha poodoo!"_ the driver of the cart shook his fist at Anakin where he lay stunned and dirty on the slushy ground. For a moment he was too shocked to move. He had just been run over by a _cart?_ Anakin Skywalker, Jedi General, had been taken out by a little old man and his four wheeled vehicle.

For the barest of seconds, laughter threatened to bubble up within him. _Wait until Obi-Wan hears about—_

The smile completely died on his face, the laughter freezing to crystalline shards in his throat. As he scrambled to his feet, slamming down his mental barriers against the sudden memory, he caught sight of a young boy glaring at him with malice, his finger pointing accusatorially in his direction.

"Look!" The shrill voice cut through the fog in his mind and the rumbling traffic on the street. "It's a Jedi!" The boy's yelling began to attract the attention of the passersby, several casting suspicious glances as the dirty stranger in the street.

 _Kriff._ He couldn't afford for his cover to be blown, not now. In one swift move, he grabbed the boy by the arm and thrust him into a side alley, distractedly hoping no one saw _that_. An accusation of attempted kidnapping would not make him very welcome. He glanced around to see if anyone caught his action before turning back to the child. He looked to be about ten or twelve, scrappy and streetwise. But his eyes held a hatred out of place with his age.

"What makes you think I'm a Jedi?" Anakin questioned in a low voice, his arm still slightly grasping the boy's elbow to keep him from running away.

The boy struggled against his grip, eyes flashing. With his free hand, he gestured at Anakin's belt. "I saw your laser sword when you got run over. Only a Jedi carries one of those." He thrust his chin up defiantly toward Anakin, ceasing his escape attempts. "But it doesn't matter. One day _I'm_ going to kill a Jedi. The Grand Conclave says anyone who kills a Jedi will receive great rewards in the afterlife."

Anakin huffed out an irritated breath. _Fanatics, great. Just what I need._ He turned an angry look on the child, tightening his grip. "No one can kill a Jedi," he lied through clenched teeth. Emotions he didn't want to deal with struggled to surge to the surface, and he clamped them down hard.

Once again the child stared boldly at Anakin, the senseless hatred pounded into him by those in authority echoing in his face. "Yes, they _can_ ," he insisted. "Your Jedi weapon can't save you. I saw a man stop a laser sword with his gauntlets, and that's what _I'll_ use."

Those words sparked an immediate reaction in Anakin. Even though he was just a child, Anakin grabbed the youth by both shoulders and slammed him into the gritty stucco wall. " _What?_ "he hissed, his face centimeters away from the child's. " _When_ did you see this man?"

The boy's eyes were wide with sudden fear, his youth abruptly starkly apparent in his pale face. "Three days ago," he stuttered, his bottom lip quivering. He shifted in Anakin's grip, whimpering slightly. "He was in Yanto's Cantina." Blinking rapidly, the boy tried to keep up his brave front.

Without a second thought, Anakin dropped the boy into the dirty slush, turning away so fast his cloak snapped in the wind. Shame and anger burning high on the boy's cheeks, he glared after the departing form. "You can't kill him, you're a Jedi!" he mocked, his words floating through empty air.

Anakin didn't answer, but he didn't need to. The swirling darkness surrounding him needed no explanation.

 _Not today._ He didn't think he had truly been a Jedi since Obi-Wan's death.

Malus was _here_. Of all the twists and turns of fate, to be here now; it must be the will of the Force. And he felt it, as sure as the suns burned hot on the dessert on Tatooine; today was the day of reckoning.

* * *

Fear.

It was not a concept Malus was used to. A bounty hunter lived by the death of others, by instilling fear in them. True, for some hunters it was just a job, a quick dead-or-alive always taken alive, but for Malus, a bounty was always better dead. Dead, they can't fight back. Such a life demanded no remorse, and fear, well, it had no place either.

But Malus had not survived as long as he had by being stupid as well. The life of a bounty hunter didn't allow for mistakes. Killing or capturing beings for money creates a certain animosity towards a profession, one that does not allow for foolish slip-ups and a healthy dose of paranoia added to a hunter's lifespan. No, he was not stupid. But he had made one mistake.

Unknown to him, that one mistake sealed his doom. And it was heading his way like a thunderstorm building on the horizon, a fire that would not be quenched.

He sat alone in the shadows of a small rented room, the artificial light from the garish signs outside slating through the blinds, casting gashes of light and dark across his face. He understood the need to lay low after a high profile killing such as a Jedi. Stenos was a perfect place. Far away from the standard space lanes, it also shared a commonality with himself—the hatred of Jedi.

However, it was about time to move on—the galaxy had. No longer did the holonet bemoan the death of one of their favorite Generals or lament the sad state his death left the war effort in. They had returned to their typical vapid programing, and the Jedi was lost to the flowing obscurity of time.

Yet someone had not forgotten.

Suddenly that signature presence assaulted his senses. A presence overflowing with flashing energy and pulsing light—but now mingled with something new, an interwoven thread of dark tainting the light. _Skywalker_. At the same moment, a quiet alarm from one of his installed sensors warned of the approaching Jedi. He had no idea how the man had found him, but he knew why he was there.

In the dark of the room Malus froze for a brief second, considering his options. The drive to kill any and all Jedi he encountered was strong, a seething hatred that gripped his soul, but wisdom overcame his vendetta. A cruel smile crept across his face. He had gotten lucky last time, and now he wagered he had not gained any _favor_ from Skywalker by killing his master . . .

Besides, he wasn't getting paid to kill Skywalker, and any bounty hunter worth their while knew not to waste time killing for free.

From experience, he knew he had about ten seconds before Skywalker burst through his door. He didn't have time to grab anything more than his blaster and gauntlets, leaving his cumbersome jetpack behind. The bounty money from killing Kenobi would more than pay for another one. Grasping the fire escape out the window, Malus caught the briefest glimpse of flashing eyes and a sizzling lightsaber before the tripwires he had installed went off. The explosion blew hot air out the window, threatening to dislodge the bounty hunter as he clambered up the rusty steps. He knew the explosion would not kill the Jedi, perhaps only slow him down, but it would grant him extra time to reach his destination.

He grunted as he pulled himself onto the roof. Ahead, only fifty meters away, sat a small, single person fighter. Its tiny frame allowed it to slip past many sensors and patrols undetected, a necessity for a person in his line of work. But even as his feet finally touched the icy surface, he knew he would not escape in time.

 _"Malus!"_ The roar came from beside him. As he turned, he saw a sight that would haunt the dreams of the most steadfast of men. Skywalker stood there, his robe tattered and singed from the explosion, the blue lightsaber casting deep shadows onto his soot-darkened face and curls. His mouth was turned in a snarl, contorting his face into that of a demon. _"Malus!"_

The fact that the Jedi had not even bothered to hide his approach testified to the reckless anger driving him. Even a being blind to the Force could feel the building tension, the mounting rage crackling within the young Jedi. Suddenly, the smallest impression of not-quite-fear slithered down Malus' spine, and he realized that maybe he had misjudged in taking the bounty on Kenobi.

Years of instinct kicked in. He rolled to avoid the first swipe of Skywalker's blade, coming up on one knee to fire a rapid burst in the Jedi's general direction. The Jedi skillfully deflected each shot, yet found himself struggling to find purchase on the icy rooftop. Malus found himself struggling in that regard as well. The ice buildup from recent snowfall created a slick, frictionless surface.

Both men realized the disadvantage at once, and Malus saw Skywalker's eyes narrow. Neither could afford to move too quickly, lest they risk losing their balance and their advantage. Malus also knew the Jedi would have to be careful to avoid his gauntlets, but also that he would not be foolish enough to fall for the same trick twice.

With a single glance, the young Jedi took in the small fighter craft and Malus' positioning on the roof in a single glance, sparing all his anger for the hunter in front of him. The two men circled each other slowly. It was a crude facsimile of a dance, an obscene rendering of two lovers pursuing each other for the first time.

"So how's the war effort, Skywalker? _You_ seem a bit . . . off," he shook his head mockingly. "Perhaps losing Kenobi unveiled an _attachment_ you had?"

His comment had an immediate response. Malus could feel the leaching fury that had been percolating beneath Skywalker's exterior explode.

"Don't say his _name!_ " Skywalker snarled in anger before charging headlong at Malus. But Malus was ready, for he himself felt the singing pull of the Dark Side in his veins and knew its weaknesses. Strength, speed, agility—it gave the user all that and more. But serenity, or the ability to perform controlled movements? Not so much.

At the last second the bounty hunter threw up his arms with the gauntlets, protecting himself from the vicious assault. Skywalker pulled up short in an attempt to avoid hitting them. The change in momentum caused the Jedi to overbalance, slipping and sliding on the icy surface. His feet shot out from under him and he crashed onto his back on the ground.

Malus pressed his attack, his rapid blaster fire and defending arm causing the Jedi to rapidly leap to his feet and backpedal to avoid hitting the gauntlets. Attention taken up completely by his 'saber movements, Skywalker looked surprised to find the edge of the roof behind him. Nimbly, he balanced on the balls of his feet, heels hanging off the edge. He made the precarious position looks easy, but the focus going into defending himself and keeping his balance was causing a toll.

Blaster still in his right, Malus stepped back and reached with his left hand to throw a grenade. But he never got the chance. One moment the Jedi was in front of him and the next he was leaping through the air, summersaulting over the stunned hunter. The lightsaber flicked down, severing his blaster in two just as he felt a ferocious push send him stumbling forward. He landed hard on the ground, sliding toward the edge, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. Stopping just shy of the edge, he jumped to his feet and face to face with the glowing tip of a blue lightsaber. The fight was over so quickly it momentarily surprised them both.

The lightsaber buzzed hot in Skywalker's hand, the tip mere centimeters away from Malus' torso. He stood with his back to the empty air, Skywalker fixed in front of him. The bounty hunter felt the void his back, the whistling wind tugging at their bodies. He shuffled his foot slightly, feeling a piece of the gritty rooftop skitter into the abyss behind him.

The surprise in Skywalker's face changed to a flinty rage, his chest heaving as his lungs pulled in air—from exertion or emotion, Malus didn't know.

"You," the growl seemed to come from deep inside Skywalker, the anger spasming his mouth around the vindictive obscenity. "I should kill you right now."

Malus stood his ground, his mind refusing to accept the fate he saw marked in Skywalker's eyes. Those eyes, outwardly flaming cauldrons and searing flames, but deep within there was ice. And that alarmed him more than the fire.

Those eyes of fire and ice—he had the sudden irrational notion that the fate of the galaxy would be decided by this man.

Heart beating in his chest, Malus squared his shoulders against the beating wind and hate. He kept his hands to his side, fingers splayed. Forever defiant, his eyes met Skywalker's.

"I'm not afraid of you."

And then Skywalker laughed, a dry mirthless laugh that cracked ice and rock and chilled Malus to the bone. The laugh turned into a grimace, contorting the once handsome face into that of carved stone and nightmares.

"Then you are a fool," he said simply.

And for the first time in his life, Malus knew fear.

* * *

The wind whistled, whipping Anakin's clothes in sharp snaps, the buffeting gusts not even coming close to matching the swirling anger and seeping dark within him. Before him stood the man that had destroyed his life, had taken the one man he thought of as father, brother, friend. The man who had torn his soul in two, rending it like a chasm in the dessert.

His anger and the dragon within surged at the bounty hunter's defiant and derisive stare. Didn't he _know_ what he had done? Didn't he _know_ the pain he had brought upon the universe for taking a single man from it? Didn't he _know_?

But there was something that Anakin had to know. While Malus was the instrument of death, he was not the orchestrator. Behind him lurked a darker figure, something or someone that had _ordered_ the death of his master. And while, dear Force, Malus would _pay,_ someone else deserved the same fate.

"Who hired you?" He spat out. Talking to this _poodoo_ was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but he had to _know_. He leaned in, pressing the tip of the lightsaber closer to Malus' chest. The bounty hunter's eyes shifted defiantly to the blade singing and humming centimeters from his heart, the blue light reflecting the steely look in his eyes.

Suddenly, their positioning, their words, so eerily similar to _that day_ brought him up short. He looked down at the lightsaber in his hand, mouth parted slightly as he began to grasp the implications of the deed he was contemplating.

And flickering in the wind, like a whisper against the howling storm, came the same caress as before, the lightest touch of a familiar laugh, a gentle correcting hand on his shoulder. He gasped and staggered back for the barest of seconds, his eyes glazing as he desperately searched for the source.

 _Promise me . . . you'll stay in the light._

But once again, the Force refused to unveil its mysteries. And in Anakin's swirling morass of darkness, his mind strayed far from his promise. The dark surrounded him, pulling him under. A tornado that sucked him up with it, twisting and turning until he didn't know which way was out. Malus deserved to die, and Anakin would be his executioner. One thrust and Malus would be sent into oblivion, sealing his own fate as well.

Yet the Force was not done with Anakin Skywalker's soul just yet. The very moment he staggered back the bounty hunter made his move. The Dark Side was clouding Anakin's judgement, and it took little effort for Malus to conceal his intentions.

The small, poisoned knife hidden in his palm missed his mark by the barest of centimeters. The action overbalanced him, as he had expected to meet solid muscle and bone. His feet slipped on the icy roof, his arms pin wheeling briefly as he sought for balance.

Their eyes locked, and with a wordless cry Malus fell.

It all happened so fast that Anakin barely registered it happening at all. He stared at the empty space where Malus had stood, struggling to comprehend. Gingerly, he stepped to peer over the edge, half expecting to find an empty alleyway below. But far down on the ground he could just make out the twisted body of the man who had killed his master.

Upon seeing the body he expected to feel . . . something. Maybe relief, perhaps triumph, but at the very least an escape from his constant companion that was the pain shadowing his every moment. But instead he felt . . . empty.

 _It's over, you_ won _._

But instead of peace, Anakin was left with more questions than before. And one still all-encompassing emotion: guilt. Guilt, because Anakin realized he almost didn't keep his promise to Obi-Wan. He _wanted_ to kill Malus, to make him suffer as he had suffered. Guilt, because he knew wholeheartedly that if he had the chance again, he would kill the man without a second thought. Guilt, because Obi-Wan was still dead, he was still alive, and he had failed once again.

He searched for that feeling from before, he searched for a feeling of relief he thought would come, he searched for something, _anything_ other than the pain and guilt he felt.

His mind sent out a tentative plea. _Obi-Wan? Master?_

But only the wind answered him.

* * *

Author Note:

Thank you to all who are still reading this! Don't worry, we are moving away from Malus and onto the TRUE perpetrator, Palpatine.


	11. Chapter 11

_All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on._

— Havelock Ellis

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"Mistress Padmé, Mistress Padmé!"

Padmé sighed at the frantic voice of Threepio assaulting her ears as soon as she crossed the threshold of her stately senatorial rooms in 500 Republica. The stresses from the Senate and the secret she was hiding wore on her patience, and she was not in the mood to deal with the anxious droid. The raucous and heated talks of granting the Chancellor more emergency powers continued despite her and her collogues best efforts to stop the motion from continuing. Bail Organa's voice rang in her head. _More power? The man already possesses enough power to command an army, for Force's sake! What more does he want?_

Padmé agreed wholeheartedly. The rashness of her fellow senators shocked her. They were a Republic, yet the amount of power the Chancellor now possessed equaled a low grade dictatorship. It never ceased to amaze her how far people were willing to go to follow silver tongued, empty promises of safety and security. And those promises _were_ empty, spun in a shiny web, trapping friends and enemies alike.

She didn't know when she had begun to lose faith. Not in democracy, never in democracy, for that is where her loyalty remained—but rather in those who participated in it. There was _intent_ behind this war, more than just Separatist anger, and she was beginning to feel a darker hand pulling the strings. Some nights in the dark moments between sleep and dreams she felt herself beginning to fear if this war would truly ever end. A suspicion had begun to worm its way into her mind, suspicion so black and so mutinous she feared to voice it even to her closest friends. There was something broken at the heart of the Republic, something evil.

However, the sharp words intended for her droid died on her tongue at the presence of another voice, one she usually only heard through holographs and late night dialogues, one soft and heavy, laced with love and full of weariness.

"Padmé?"

"Anakin?" She rushed toward him, her arms out flung. He responded in kind, pulling her close to him in a crushing embrace. Padmé felt tears sting her eyes as she breathed him in, allowing her fears and terrors about the Senate and their child to momentarily be forgotten in his arms. "Oh, Ani!" she cried, finally pulling away to look at him. "You're back? I thought you weren't coming back on planet until tomorrow!" She looked closer then, and saw something wrong reflecting in his eyes. She swallowed a sudden dread. "Did something happen? Did you . . ."

Anakin shook his head, shushing her and holding up a finger to her moving lips. "Padmé, my love. That can wait." He pushed her an arm's length away, gazing at her with adoring eyes. He reached down and placed a gentle hand on her belly. He looked up, his face suffused with wonder and consternation as he felt the warm light growing inside her.

"I _feel_ it," he said, his voice struck almost soundless with amazement. "I can feel the baby!"

Lips trembling, Padmé smiled and covered his hand with both of her own. "I know," she whispered back. She swallowed, the fears of the last few months rushing back then as she finally had someone with whom she could share. The pressures and strains of her secret keeping finally caught up to her and she felt the tears she had been holding back begin to flow.

Distressed, Anakin pulled her to the couch and sat them both down on it. "Padmé, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Anakin," she cried, flinging her arms around his shoulders once again and carding her fingers through his hair. "What are we going to _do?_ This baby . . . it changes everything. I don't know how we can _explain_ it, and the Council? When they find out it's _yours_ . . . and there is no one to talk to them now that Obi-Wan is—"

Anakin winced and she stopped herself then, gasping slightly as she covered her mouth in dismay. The light kindled in his eyes at the prospect of their child shuttered behind darkness and sorrow, and he turned infinitesimally away.

She could still remember their first meeting after it had happened. She had returned as soon as possible from her duties on Naboo, but it had taken infinitely longer than she had ever hoped. But there was protocol to follow in these matters, and no one expected her to rush back for a Jedi she had in theory known only formally. She shuddered to recall Anakin's blank stare at her questioning words and his inability to respond to her queries and comforts with more than single words. Instead he looked down at his hands as if he could still see the slippery blood coating his fingers. He couldn't sleep either, instead waking up from nightmare after nightmare, Obi-Wan's name frozen on his lips.

He was better now, if better meant he now talked using more than single words and sleeping mostly through the night. But he was still broken, a mere shadow of the strong man she married. She did not resent the grief, for grief and pain were natural responses to death, but the gleam of retribution in her husband's eyes, the relentless obsession with revenge . . .

Was there a way to resent a ghost? But she did, she hated who her husband was becoming because of a memory, a false drive to set right what Obi-Wan wouldn't have even wanted.

Standing up and turning away from her, Anakin looked out the window at the relentless Coruscant traffic streaming by. "There is a reason I'm home a day early" he said quietly, refusing to meet her eyes. He paused for a long while, long enough for Padmé to wonder if he would actually continue.

"I found him, Padmé," he whispered finally. Turning to face her, his gaze suddenly hardened, his face becoming something different from the loving man she had married. It was hard, cold, and so terrifyingly dark that Padmé irrationally felt the need to pull away.

"Found him?" But even as she asked, the answer to her question became clear. There was only one _him_ that Anakin could be referring to, only one man that could produce such a response of hate and anger in her husband. "Oh, Anakin. What did you do?"

His eyes shifted away from hers and far over the horizon. He didn't appear to notice the clenched fists at his sides. "Does it matter?" Shadows deepened the lines of his face. "He's dead," he said simply.

Once again Padmé's hand flew to her mouth, dismay coursing through her veins. "You _killed_ him, Anakin? Please tell me you didn't kill him." She sat frozen to her seat, staring at the stranger in front of her.

"No, Padmé, I didn't _kill_ him," he hissed, suddenly whipping around to face her again. "That's the problem."

Padmé drew her brows together as she tried to piece together her husband's disjointed thoughts. "Problem?" she asked, "But I thought . . . you wanted him dead?"

Anakin scoffed, pacing the floor vehemently in front of her. "Of _course_ it's what I wanted. The kriffing bastard deserves even _more_ than that. But he died and _I_ didn't kill him." He stopped his pacing then, pressing both hands against the window. His head sunk between his shoulder blades. The setting sun cast him into silhouette, and suddenly he seemed more shadow than man.

"But Padmé, I would do _anything_ to go back there and do it again just so I could run my lightsaber through his kriffing heart. And that's the problem, I _know_ it's wrong, I _know_ it's not-not what _he_ would have wanted and that more than anything makes it _worse_." He planted his face in his hands, breath trembling in and out as he attempted to control himself. "Padmé, I failed, I failed _him_ , because I would still kill Malus."

The agony in his voice seared her heart. What love Obi-Wan had unintentionally inspired in the man, to drive him to such feats of retribution. And what anguish would he have felt to see the friend he loved reduced to a shadow of vengeance, a wraith in the halls as a result of his death.

Standing up and walking over to where he stood by the window, Padmé rubbed soothing circles on his back, her fingers ghosting over knotted and overworked muscles. "Anakin, the Jedi may think of you as their Chosen One, but that doesn't lessen the fact that you're only human. Everyone makes mistakes and you _didn't_ fail Obi-Wan because you didn't kill the bounty hunter. You did the right thing."

Voice muffled by his hands, Anakin revealed, "But I wanted to."

"But you didn't."

His shoulders slumped, his breath shuddering through his lungs. "It's just . . . I don't feel any _better_." He looked over at her then, desperation written across his exhausted features. Padmé could suddenly read every sleepless night and relentless obsession with the war on every shadow and wrinkle on his face. "I thought if he died, then-then . . ." he swallowed before saying the name quietly, "Then Obi-Wan would have been avenged and I could move on." He grasped both her hands in a despairing grip, searching her face for an answer. "But I still have this burning grief inside. Why do I still miss him so much?" The last sentence came out a keening cry, the heartbroken confusing of a child missing their parent. He slowly sank down onto his knees as if his pain was too much to bear. Padmé followed him down to the floor, their arms and legs tangling together.

"Ani, oh Ani," she repeated, "Grief never ends, my love," she pushed around the ache in her throat. "But if there is one thing I have found it is that it changes. You cannot stay in it forever, it is a passage." She pulled away to look in his face, her hands still caressing their way through his hair.

At her words he scoffed derisively, his pain echoing in the sound. He looked back, his eyes still fever-bright, face flushed, the shadows of his bones reflecting those of a dead man. "Padmé, why won't this pain and guilt go away? It's like a burning pit inside me, and everything I do and see and feel is stitched with it. Guilt that I can't think about him, and guilt that I _haven't_ thought about him enough. Then all I can feel when I do think about him is grief. Padmé, it's like a lightsaber stabbing my heart every time and I just _can't . . ."_ His words ended in a pained gasp, trailing off as words ran out and pain and guilt filled the void left behind.

Her heart ached. _Oh, Obi-Wan. If you could see what your death has done to him, would you have tried harder to live? Would you have made a different decision, chosen a different path so Anakin could live as well?_ But Obi-Wan was not there, he had gone where no living could follow. But that did not mean his teachings had departed as well.

She leaned forward and whispered, "What would Obi-Wan say?"

At her words, his face froze. For a moment it appeared as if he wouldn't respond, but finally something flickered infinitesimally across his face. "Before or after ' _what are you doing in Senator Amidala's apartment at this time of night?_ '" He choked out a tearful laugh, no mirth in the sound, just a pathetic whimper, a physical manifestation of grief. He passed his hands across his eyes, pressing his fingers to the lids.

Padmé felt her heart break a little more. Trembling lips curving into a watery smile of her own, she gently reached out and pulled her husband's hands away from his face. "After," she replied, placing a light kiss on his chapped knuckles. His own fingers curled around hers.

"He . . . he'd say all feelings teach us something. A person must feel the pain, and learn from it." Anakin swallowed, but pressed on, his voice a whisper. " _'What is the point of guilt, Anakin? To help us learn self-forgiveness.'_ " His voice cracked, eyes bright with emotion as he suddenly pulled his hands away, placing them once again over his closed eyes. He breathed, filling his chest with air and letting it out before continuing suddenly.

"I would do it again, Padmé. For him. I would kill someone if I found out they were involved. Someone like that doesn't deserve to be saved." And in his suddenly open eyes, Padmé saw the depths of flames that matched those Tatooine suns so many years before. The pure dedication, the raw promise in those words chilled Padmé to the core. The implications of Anakin's statement reverberated in her mind, sending icy shards of dread deep in her soul.

She leaned closer to her husband, softly grasping his tightly clenched jaw in her gentle fingers, turning his shadowed face toward her. "It's not about _killing_ or _saving them_ , Ani. It's not about revenge or justice. It's about saving _yourself_."

She had seen firsthand the result of her husband's fury unleashed upon those he deemed had wronged him, she had witnessed the brokenness and pain he suffered, both in mind and spirit, and angered beast wrestling with the guilt torn heart. She too had lost a friend with Obi-Wan's death, but she refused to let his death cause another.

"I know there is good in you, Ani. And it scares me to see that goodness slipping away each day." A desperate pleading entered her voice, echoing the pounding love and fear growing in her heart for this broken, strong, lost and grieving man in front of her.

Suddenly Anakin recoiled from her touch as if it was poison. He hurdled up off the floor, flames burning high in his eyes. "What if I was never good? What if my goodness came from those around me? My mother, you, from Obi-Wan. It's just—I can't contain this anger inside me, Padmé."

Padmé breathed in slowly, pressing down the fear and sorrow in her. "You need to stay strong, Ani. For yourself, for us. For our unborn child."

He shook his head, running trembling hands through his hair. "What if I _can't?_ Padmé, without him . . . _He_ kept me good, and now that he's-he's _gone_ all I can feel is _pain_ , and that pain—the only way it escapes in is anger." His voice rose in volume, the room humming with rage and power and screaming agony.

Swiftly Padmé leapt up, enveloped his trembling and tightly corded body in her arms as tightly as she could, pulling him down on the floor again. Tears trembled on her own lashes, diamond bright in the dim light. She could feel her own heart breaking inside, tiny fault lines slithering across the surface. Their twin sorrows wound together, a monument to sorrow, a tableau of grief. She gently ran her fingers through Anakin's tangled curls, feeling his tense muscles against her arms, shushing and soothing him as she would a little child.

"Some believe the pain demonstrates a lack of faith, some internal part of you that is too weak to move on. The Jedi would have you believe there is no death, only the Force. But Ani, that is not true at all. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor is it a lack of faith; it is the price of love."

Upon hearing those words, his face crumpled, looking as if she herself had shot a blaster bolt into his chest, such was the agony scrawled across his face.

"Padmé, he-he told me he _loved_ me. And I never told _him_. I knew he loved me, but I never told him. . ."

"Oh Anakin, he knew. I could see it. _I_ knew. He must have known. It is said that it is only with that heart that one can see rightly, Ani. What does your heart tell you?"

Anakin blinked then, a seemingly vast movement in the utter stillness of the room. "He knew," he whispered finally, but with certainty. A single tear trembled on his lashes before suddenly, slowly tracing its way down his face. Padmé reached up and brushed it away with the pad of her thumb. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"Of course he knew," she whispered, feeling their breath mingle. "For a brief time, my love, you had Obi-Wan in your life, but now you'll have to carry him in your heart." She felt something break within him, a dam that had been built to protect the child from the pain.

"I miss him Padmé, so much." The voice came out as a broken whisper.

"I know," she whispered back, allowing her tears to fall in his hair like a gentle rain washing away the dirt, leaving a land washed and clean.

Besides that first day, Anakin had denied his tears. It was as if the raging fire within him had seared his heart, turning him into a vengeful flame burning and evaporating all in its wake. But here, in the place where he had always felt safe, the tears came. Deep, wracking sobs that seemed to tear out pieces of his soul shook his body.

And she held him as he wept.

* * *

The harsh dark of the night eased into the warm, watery pink of dawn. The soft light kissed the two faces wrapped in each other's arms. Anakin gazed at the face of his wife, placing small kisses on her hand and forehead. He laid a gentle hand on her slightly protruding stomach, caressing the small life within.

"I'm sorry, Padmé," he whispered unexpectedly. Her surprise was palpable as she peered into his face. Sitting up in the bed, she carded her fingers through his tangled curls. Their combined bodies warmed the sheets and her heart. She had missed this. She had missed _him_.

"For what, my love?" she queried.

His face fell into the shadows. "I haven't been here. I know I haven't been present." He rolled over on his back, his eyes far away. "I know I've been . . . distracted these last months."

Padmé settled her head on his chest, feeling her heart constrict. "Oh, Ani. You don't need to apologize at all. Something like these last few months, losing someone you love, you don't just let it go." She gazed at his face from her position on his chest, seeing his eyes still lost in his own world. She could count the number of nights spent together as husband and wife in the last few terrible months on one hand. It took a toll on both of them, but then the war was easy on no one, least of all the Jedi. Reports of more of their number falling every day reached the ears of the Senate, and every time Padmé felt terror chill down her spine until the last name was read, dreading to hear the name that she loved added to a list of those lost into the Force. Losing Obi-Wan was already too great a sacrifice, and she didn't think she could bear any more death.

And each day, as the moment their child would arrive grew closer, she began to dream of a galaxy free of war and pain and death. She dreamed of the three of them, a family, sheltered from the oppressive weight of the problems of others. The baby would change everything. She could _feel_ it. But Anakin, excited as he was, willingly blinded himself to the inevitable change this baby would bring. As much as he adored her, he loved his life as a Jedi almost as much.

Sometimes, however, Padmé worried. Did he love the selflessness of being a Jedi, the tenets of self-sacrifice they all followed, or did he bask in the power his position afforded him, the adoring eyes of the public and the fearful eyes of the public? Sometimes she didn't know.

Slipping out of the bed, she padded across the soft floor to the elegant dresser. The silky material of her nightgown felt cool as it brushed across her skin. She paused for a moment, gazing into her reflection before turning around to face her husband. "Anakin, we need to talk about the baby."

Anakin sat up, the muscles on his chest defined in the faint light, but the strain of the last few months showing clearly through new scars marring his body and the thinness in his face. Frowning at her words he crossed his arms. "Padmé, we're not going to worry about anything right now, all right? Our baby is a gift."

Shaking her head, she paced agitatedly at the end of their bed. She couldn't let them ignore the inevitable any longer. It was childish to pretend that nothing was changing, that life would continue as it always had. Anakin, she knew, would never address the problem unless forced. Give him a physical enemy and he would overcome it or die trying. However, emotional problems? Dealing with the highs and lows of relationships, with the issues they presented; his response was to attempt to forget, to elude, and to completely avoid the problem until it blew up in his face.

They couldn't afford for that to happen now. Difficult as it was, so soon after _that_ day, this was too important.

She stopped pacing and stepped swiftly to the side of the bed, desperately grasping her husband's hand. "I know, but Anakin. We can't just push it down and away and pretend nothing is going to change. Because things will change. For me, for you. I can have the baby on Naboo, but what then? Remain hidden? Lie when they ask who the father is?"

Anakin pressed his lips together and disentangled his hand from hers. He refused to look in her eyes as he flung aside the covers and slid past her out of bed. For a moment she thought he would refuse, would hide away behind his façade. She prepared to debate, arguments already forming in her mind. She opened her mouth just as he spoke.

"You're right," he said, gazing out the window at the vibrant sunrise. The pink and gold hues set the blond strands alight in a delicate blaze. Padmé snapped her mouth closed, feeling her lips curve into a smile until she heard his next words.

"I'll talk to the Chancellor. He'll know what to do."

Her heart beat once, hard, and for some unknown reason Padmé felt the urge to recoil. "Anakin, the Chancellor?" Her mouth felt dry. "You've told him about us? Is that wise?"

Anakin gave her a strange look. "Padmé, he's always been a friend to me, has trusted me when no one else has except . . ." he paused and shook his head as if to clear it. "He's always guided me when I've needed it."

"It's just. . . I don't know what it is," she shook her head. "But something is wrong here. I can't put my finger on it. It's just the whispering in the shadows, the way people are shrinking away from what this Republic was founded on."

Waving away her words with an indifferent hand, Anakin began to slip into his tunics. He had denied the traditional white tunics worn by the Jedi for years, and now somehow the dark, muted colors that distinguished his clothing from theirs seemed even darker and blacker then she remembered. "It's called war, Padmé. The people are right to be scared."

"No Anakin, it's-" once again she shook her head helplessly, feeling a flash of anger at his unconcerned attitude. "It's more than that. I think . . ." she trailed off, not sure how to explain what she thought. It was just a _feeling_ —and while if _anyone_ should understand following a feeling it would be a Jedi—she even questioned herself sometimes.

As if sensing her irritation Anakin's brows drew together as he finally focused completely on her. "What, Padmé?"

She placed her hands on her hips, making a frustrated noise. "I don't know! All I know is something is broken, there is something dark and sinister behind this whole war. And I think its heart is _here_ , in Coruscant. There's someone high up, someone with power . . . I just think we need to be careful."

At her words Anakin's face suddenly drained of all color and he stumbled half a step back in the room. His distress was so palpable that Padmé quickly reached for him, concern written on her expression.

"Anakin? What's wrong?"

He swallowed visibly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. The white in his face stood out against his dark tunics. "It's just . . . that's what-what Obi-Wan said before . . . before he . . ." He stopped, the words seeming to grate their way out of his throat.

Icy dread prickled across her skin. "Obi-Wan? He suspected something, some _one_ , here? In the Senate?"

Anakin's face remained pale. He opened his mouth to respond before closing it again and shaking his head. "I don't know." He turned away from her concern, his back closing off the possibility of discussion.

Padmé felt frustration building inside her. He just didn't _deal_ with problems like he should. He turned away, shut people out, believed because _he_ was the Jedi's Chosen One it meant the weight of the galaxy was on his shoulders and his alone. But she was his _wife_ , and that meant she didn't need protection, she needed his trust.

Walking over to his side, she rested a hand on his arm, gazing up into his pinched and worried face. "Don't do this Anakin! Don't shut me out."

Sighing, Anakin pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids. "I'm not shutting you out, Padmé," his voice sounded tired. "I just don't _know_." He took his hand away from his face and ran it through his hair, lips twisted into a frown.

"Years ago, right before we got married. Remember Geonosis? How Obi-" he swallowed, "how Obi-Wan had been captured by Dooku? He told me later that Dooku told him about a Dark Lord controlling the Senate."

Padmé gasped. "And what did the Council say?"

Snorting derisively, Anakin rolled his eyes, his contempt for both the Council and Dooku written across his face. "Dooku is a Sith, a master of lies. Why would they believe anything he said? Even Obi-Wan doubted him. At least, so it seemed until . . ." Once again his face twisted, and suddenly he looked adrift, like a small child who had lost their guidance in life.

Suddenly frightened, Padmé wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his warm, solid chest. "Ani, what should we do?"

Shaking himself as if waking from a dream, Anakin pressed a kiss on the top of her head before pulling away from her embrace. "The Council has called me in for a meeting. I need to go, but don't worry Padmé, okay? I will be back." Smiling tenderly at her, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. "You take care of our baby girl."

Padmé smiled, shoving her fear and uncertainty about the future down and away to think about later. "Don't you mean our baby boy?" she teased. Anakin smiled back at her, adoration writing across his face.

"We will see, my love. I promise not to gloat _too_ much when I'm right."

Padmé giggled even as her heart broke a little. She _missed_ this Anakin, the carefree man she married, not the war weary general he was most often these days.

"Goodbye, my love." As he headed out the door, the words echoed between them as their fingertips brushed. Just before he left, he turned around suddenly and looked her straight in her eyes. "Don't say anything about this to _anyone_ , okay?" And the seriousness in her voice evaporated any trace of humor she felt and sent a quiver of apprehension through her body.

"I won't. Be careful, Anakin." And as he sped off into the sunrise, Padmé suddenly had a strange premonition that things would never be the same again.


	12. Chapter 12

_If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry_.

― Ernest Hemingway

* * *

Chapter 12

Anakin had never enjoyed the ride up to the Council Chambers. More often than not, a summons to the Council room meant a reprimand for Anakin and a dispute with the Council for Obi-Wan. He always loathed the seeping disappointment from the faces of the Jedi masters, their staring eyes piercing into his soul, their thoughts plain on their faces and in the Force.

 _Too old, too impatient, too angry, a failure._

He hated to see the stiff stance of his master's shoulders and tense line of his lips pressing together in disapproval. It took Anakin many years to realize the disapproval was equally directed towards the Council as it was towards Anakin. It also took him years to realize the extent of Obi-Wan's work and dedication to keep his corrections to a minimum. Being the Jedi's Chosen One had many disadvantages, including being the one on whom the Council leveled harsher punishments against as an example to others.

As a child, the ride up to the Cambers had seemed to take a lifetime, but nothing compared to the eternity of this one. Gathering the Force around him as protection, he steeled his face as the door swished open.

He had seen Obi-Wan's council seat empty before. The war effort demanded much of all the Jedi, be it Padawan, Knight, or Master. Anakin had even teased his master that he may have been one of the youngest masters ever elected, but no one would ever know because he was never there. His master had simply rolled his eyes and stated if he would be remembered for anything, it would be his long-suffering patience he had developed while training him.

But this time was different. Stepping forward to the center of the lofty room, Anakin bowed stiffly to the council, his eyes steadfastly avoiding the conspicuously empty seat.

The fact that Obi-Wan had been dead for several months— _one hundred and twenty seven days,_ Anakin's mind filled in—but no other council member had been elected in his place clearly indicated the dreadful shortage of Jedi. They were losing more each day. Sometimes Anakin found himself walking through the entire Temple without encountering another soul. The war was taking its toll on all.

"Knight Skywalker," Master Windu's deep voice rumbled through the air. Anakin could sense his disapproval even before he began to speak.

 _What else is new?_

"Masters," he replied, keeping his voice even and neutral, his mental shields locked down tight. He knew what was coming. And he held no illusions to what was going to happen to him either. He no longer had Obi-Wan to fight for him. _Fine._

But he was not about to let the only life he had ever really known go without a fight. Thrusting out his chin, he looked defiantly at the two Grand Masters in front of him, ready for their verdict. Master Windu glanced over at Yoda's diminutive form beside him, pulling his brows together. But neither master said a word.

 _Go on, throw me out. I know you've been waiting for this your whole lives._ A brief flash of guilt sped through him as he pictured Obi-Wan's face at his thoughts. But Obi-Wan was gone. He was on his own now.

The silence continued and for the first time Anakin felt a shimmering of something in the Force—not _fear_ —but an emotion close enough to it that he almost stepped back in stunned astonishment. The masters of the Jedi Council, the best and brightest of the entire Jedi Order were unanimously and exceedingly _worried_ about something.

 _Me?_

Surreptitiously he probed further. No, it wasn't _him_ they were afraid of—it was something else.

As if responding to a hidden signal, both Master Yoda and Master Windu turned to look straight at the young knight standing before them.

"Hear, we did, of your encounter with Malus," Yoda's large ears twitched as he gazed owlishly at Anakin. Anakin unconsciously straightened his tense shoulders. He knew better than to interrupt to defend himself. Yet.

Yoda paused and looked around the room at the other council members. For the first time Anakin noticed that all the council members were present, physically or not, their holographic bodies flickering in the red sunlight. He could see the thick branches and vines of Mygeeto crowding in behind Ki-Adi Mundi even through the flickering hologram. His stomach dropped lower.

Master Windu continued where Yoda had left off. "While we are not _pleased_ ,"—his emphasis on the word clearly indicated how displeased he was—"about your…actions on Stenos, we have a mission that we believe that only you have the qualifications."

"Masters—" Anakin began, then stopped in shock. "A _mission_?" His mouth tried to form words, instead his thoughts seemed to freeze before ever reaching his lips. "I-I thought...I mean...I'm not..."

A muscle in Master Windu's jaw jumped. "Believe me, _I_ thought so as well. However, these are difficult time. The Force grows dark, Anakin. We all can feel it." He looked around at his fellow council members, their grim and scarred faces saying more than words ever could. "This is not a decision we came to lightly. Consider this mission as a probation, Skywalker. Your actions are not befitting of a general, but especially not befitting of a Jedi knight. However, we are at war. Such times call for uncommon actions."

Shaking his head and feeling utterly confused, all Anakin could do was wait for the Council to continue.

Master Yoda blinked slowly again, his ears dipping slightly as he gazed at Anakin. "A mission, we have for you, young Skywalker. Stay with the Chancellor, you must. Watch him, you will."

"I'm-I'm sorry, masters. I don't understand. Is the Chancellor in danger?"

A ripple of unease percolated through the room. "Not in danger," Master Windu said with intent, his dark eyes boring into Anakin. "We want you to report on his doings to the Council."

The Korun master's words hit him like an out of control speeder. Shock and anger seethed to the surface of his mind, seeping out from their dark recesses, threatening to curl out from behind his durasteel shields.

"Report on his doings? You mean to spy on him?" His mind balked at the word. "That's treason!"

Windu's voice was cold as ice. "Anakin, as you know, we are at war. Our loyalty is to the Republic, not to a man who has managed to stay in power long after his term has expired."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The Chancellor is a _great_ man! He has only stayed in power because the Senate asked him to!"

Drawing his brows together again, Master Windu's face gathered together into a fierce scowl. "A great man whose only actions seem to prolong a war that no one benefits from, except a Sith."

Anakin felt his resolve faltering. "There's no way...the Jedi would sense it!"

I _would sense it._

"Clouded, the future is," Yoda emphasized his words by thrusting a clawed green finger toward Anakin. "But sense, we do, the darkness centers on Coruscant, it does."

That nagging feeling, the underlying fear...

 _There's someone high up, someone with power..._ _It's here, on Coruscant...be careful..._

Stuttering to a stop, his eyes darted around the room, seeking desperately for support, for assurance that what he was hearing was simply a joke even while knowing it was all too true. It was like a never ending nightmare that he wished to wake up from but knowing the night had just started. Could they be right? Could the one man who truly listened to Anakin, who cared about the person he was and not the Jedi, could he be the Sith they were looking for?

His anxious eyes flew around the room once more before finding themselves irreversibly drawn to the one seat he had been avoiding. Suddenly his resistance crumbled. Force, he missed his master's guidance terribly. If Obi-Wan was here now— _he would know what to do._

But it was only Anakin now—he was alone. Everything in him screamed against the mission— _treason, for Force's sake!—_ worse, it was betrayal of a friend.

But this mission, it gave him the chance to stay on Coruscant. To stay with Padmé...the baby...his heart jumped at the thought. Perhaps Padmé wouldn't have to hide on Naboo. Perhaps...perhaps he could be there when their child was brought into this world. Suddenly that thought overwhelmed any doubts he had. He could be to the child what Obi-Wan had been to him, a father.

He would do it, but he knew the Jedi had made a choice they could never come back from. War had changed everyone in the Galaxy, even it's self appointed guardians of the light. There was no going back.

He bowed, forcing the self-hatred and bile back down his throat. "I will take this mission, Masters," he said.

 _And the Force help us if we are wrong._

* * *

Sidious gazed at the young knight pacing restlessly across the soft carpet in his Senate office. Even without the Force he could sense the turmoil roiling underneath his calm façade. He earnestly doubted Anakin had gotten a decent night's sleep after the death of his master—the dark circles under his eyes, the almost imperceptible sloping of his shoulders testified to that fact. The boy was in drowning in chaos. He was fighting a losing struggle with the waves, struggling to keep from drowning. Sidious could feel the pain and confusion eating away at his very core, slowly fragmenting away the light within.

He loved it.

"My dear boy," he schooled his voice to sound like the grandfatherly figure with whom the galaxy equated him. "Will you please tell me what is bothering you?

In the past, such a request would have had Anakin venting anything that came to his mind—his frustration at his master, his feelings for Padmé, his anger and disillusionment with the Jedi Order. Playing the role of sole confidant and listening ear to the young slave boy from Tatooine gave Sidious a leverage over Anakin that no one else had, not even his own master. He preyed on his doubts, cultivating the seeds of disillusionment and anger, stoking the fire until it was ready to burst into flames.

Anakin opened his mouth, pausing for a second before snapping it closed and shaking his head. "Forgive me, Chancellor," he said, finally stopping his pacing and halting beside the sprawling desk annexing half the room. "I'm just on edge. This threat against your life has me worried."

 _He's lying._

Shock and rage simmered through Sidious. There was not threat on his life. Being the one who truly manipulated the players on this galactic version of Dejarik did give him a slight insight into the ways of the Separatists. However, for the past several days Anakin's company followed him wherever he went under the pretense of responding to a threat against his life. He didn't know what game the Jedi were play at now, and it made him uneasy. He didn't like being uneasy.

Before answering, he smothered his reactions with the correct combination of concern and weary indifference.

"I'm sure there must be something more important for you to be doing, my young friend, rather than guarding little old me. Surely the Jedi aren't simply keeping you here in response to that...unpleasantness on Stenos?"

Fists curling almost imperceptibly Anakin huffed a mirthless laugh. "And here I remember you telling me several months ago that I was the only Jedi you trusted to protect you..." He trailed off, suddenly distracted, his eyes looking somewhere only he could see.

"Of course I trust you explicitly, Anakin. I merely wonder..." he sighed and shook his head with feigned sadness. "I sometimes wonder if the Council takes advantage of you."

"This war is trying for all the Jedi, Chancellor." Once again Anakin trailed off.

"Yes?" Sidious prompted. He would get information out of the boy one way or another.

The young man turned his gaze out the windows that overlooked the sprawling artificial expanse of Coruscant's surface towards the Temple. In this light he seemed diminished somehow, as though someone had taken the Hero With No Fear and removed something vital to his wellbeing. To be fair, Sidious thought gleefully, someone had.

"Sometimes I wonder what's going to happen to the Jedi after the war," Anakin's voice spoke up softly, as though surprised at himself to daring to voice his thoughts. His lips twisted as he drew away from the window and turned back into the room. "At times I can't even recognize the Order anymore."

The twisting tendril of doubt came to Sidious like a drifting perfume. He grasped at it, playing a game of souls like others play at Sabacc. He stood up from behind his desk, placing a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of the young man before him. "Perhaps it is time for the Jedi to change," he said carefully, watching for his words to take root, to twist and destroy the already fragile trust Anakin possessed in the Jedi. "There are aspects of the Force the Jedi dare not explore."

Anakin seemed to start at that. Drawing his brows together, he shot Sidious an indecipherable look before answering. "You know the ways of the Force?"

"I am merely commenting on what I have observed, Anakin," he responded vaguely, gesturing dismissively in the direction of the Jedi Temple. "In my opinion, the Jedi view does sometimes seem rather narrow and dogmatic."

A distant look crossed Anakin's face, a shadow of sorrow and pain. "Obi-Wan would not think so."

Within the hidden depths of Palpatine's soul—if what deformed and twisted flickering form within him could be called that—he sneered. Even in death that narrow-minded devotee to the light maintained his control over Anakin. Removing his hand from Anakin's shoulder he inclined his head and narrowed his eyes as he responded.

"Anakin, your master is no longer here. You don't need to be bound by his teachings any longer."

Something within Anakin appeared to flicker. His shoulders straightened as he looked at the Chancellor, the depths of his eyes shining with an emotion Sidious could not place. "The Jedi may not be perfect, My Lord, but they understand the need for hope in this Galaxy. Obi-Wan understood that. Dogmatic or not, that will always be relevant."

Due to the politician within, Sidious knew when to demure to his challenger. "Of course, you are right my young friend. I meant no harm."

Anakin appeared withdrawn as he nodded. "Of course, Chancellor." He blinked and swallowed as he backed away from Sidious. "I-if you'll excuse me, I need to go." Bowing hastily, he turned and almost fled out the door.

Something was wrong. Sidious could tell the boy was not acting like himself. Closing his eyes, he probed Anakin's mind, slipping in behind his wavering shields unawares as the young Jedi slowly faded from his senses into the mass throng of beings populating the Senate rooms.

 _Fear, sorrow, guilt, betrayal, suspicion._

Sidious nearly hissed out loud at the last emotion. Whatever was happening in Skywalker would need to be stopped. He had worked too hard on this insolent _pup_ to allow the cursed Jedi to take his prize away from him.

No. Skywalker _would_ be his. The rule of the Jedi was almost over.

It was time for the rise of the Sith.

* * *

As if in a daze, Anakin slipped out of the Chancellors quarters. His body suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, his legs struggled to hold him up. He pressed his trembling arms against the wall, his head hanging down between them.

 _Your master is no longer here . . . there are aspects of the Force the Jedi dare not explore . . ._

He didn't want to believe it. He _couldn't_ believe it. _Wrong wrong this is wrong!_ his instincts screamed at him.

But the remembrance of the past hit him so hard he almost staggered. _I seem to remember you thought I was the only Jedi who could protect you..._

The only Jedi . . .

He had been called away while Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had been left alone.

 _No._ He couldn't believe it. He couldn't. The Chancellor of the Republic, _his friend_ , was a Sith lord.

His heart seemed to be torn in two. If he reported his suspicion to the Council he would be vindicated. He would prove his worth to the Jedi Order. He would be fulfilling his role as the Chosen One.

But at what cost?

The man would be taken to trial. Whatever punishment the Senate dolled out could not even begin to hurt the monster in that room the way he had hurt the Galaxy, the way he hurt _him._ The thousands of lives lost, the clones, the civilians, the Jedi. His own personal betrayal.

Anakin's world seemed to be spinning around him, the dizzying colors intertwining and merging in front of him. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps. Nothing seemed to make sense, but at the same time everything did.

If he went to trial, Palpatine would never truly pay for what he did. He would never answer for the anguish Anakin felt day in and out at the ragged hole in his heart where his master used to reside.

He could not let that happen.

With sudden, purposeful strides, Anakin stormed back towards the rooms he had just exited. And if any being walking by had glanced into the young man's face, they would have noticed the strange yellow hue seeping into his flashing eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

_Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that._ —Martin Luther King Jr.

 **Love** [luhv]

A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person

 **Hate** [heyt]

Intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

There are a few moments that truly define a person's life. Sometimes it's the biggest decisions, who you marry, who you love. Sometimes it's the smallest choice, turn left or right, stay or go. Sometimes it's the smallest, most insignificant moments that can be pulled from a memory with startling clarity.

As the thunderstorm that was Anakin Skywalker exploded through the door of the Chancellor's office, with all the rage and hatred pouring out of his eyes and soul, he knew that this would be his moment.

Yellow-seeped eyes searched the room, and stopped when they found the figure standing behind the desk. Gone was the figure that Anakin had come to know as a mentor and friend. Standing in his place was a seeping, bleeding, hemorrhaging rent in the Force. The small side of Anakin still anchored in the light shivered and shuddered in the presence of this aberration.

Coming to the center of the room, Anakin stopped.

"You," the word slipped out from between clenched teeth. "How could it be _you?_ "

The aberration before him laughed, if the horrible cackling sound issuing from his throat could be called that.

"Oh Anakin, always so naive! It's a wonder you lasted as long as you have." His face contorted. Pacing slowly, the Sith wound his way toward the young Jedi. "Join me, and we can rule the galaxy together!"

A horrible sound tore from Anakin's throat, a cross between a laugh and a groan. He felt his world shifting beneath him. "Join you?" His heart seemed to clench in his chest, his face ice cold. "I'm going to kill you."

With matching snarls, the two men hurtled toward each other. Each blow flew fast and strong, blurring streaks of red and blue. The smell of ozone and the harsh sound of the two weapons clashing echoed throughout the room.

Anakin could feel the anger coursing through his veins, a pulsing power unlike anything he ever felt. Each movement he made, every block and thrust and parry, found its foundation in its supremacy. And as he pulled from this well of darkness, he realized it was nothing new. Those seeping depths through which he walked, the twisted pit of despair inside him had always been there, just covered over with years of training and Jedi platitudes. The sudden realization of how deeply he truly was tainted might have shocked him at any other time, but all he could focus on was his enemy in front of him. This man had ruined his life, taken away one of the only people in the entire galaxy that he cared about. The Dark within him built and built until he no longer knew if he controlled it or it controlled him.

"Yes," hissed Sidious, his eyes matching Anakin's, "Don't fight it. Let it flow through you. _Feel_ the hate inside."

The grating voice induced Anakin to simply fight harder. He was deaf to anything but his own internal turmoil, the Dark within pushing back the fading light. Once, he had thought he would never have to worry about it going out. Never have to worry, because he had someone to anchor him to it. But now that light, once so bright, once so secure, was now buffeting like a candle in a Kamino storm.

The lightsabers moved in an endless blur.

Powerful as Anakin burned in the Force, experience won out over intensity. In a split second, a tiniest misstep, and Anakin felt a boot in his chest and sharp tug of the Force ripping the lightsaber from his hand. He stumbled, crashing awkwardly to the ground, the lightsaber bouncing uselessly out of sight.

The blood red blade thrummed before his throat.

"Oh Anakin," Sidious purred. "Did you really thing you could defeat me?" The tendril of anger at the very _audacity_ of that thought hummed through his being. Anakin could feel it as the Sith let it course through him, fueling his rage.

Anakin glared at him, his back pressed against the floor. Pure hate froze his tongue and stole his words.

"Join me, Anakin" The Sith rumbled, his voice a low, seductive purr. "The Jedi are weak, their way is one of frailty and subjugation. They have only been holding you back."

The words stung Anakin with a barb of truth. The power he felt duling Palpatine was unlike anything he had felt before. He had questioned the Jedi's reticence in the past, their cautious restraint and their sanctimonious demeanor irked Anakin. The Dark called to Anakin, it had called to him for as long as he remembered. No matter the training, no matter the hesitancy against it, he could _feel_ its power, and feel the fear the other Jedi felt.

Sidious smirked, the lightsaber shifting imperceptibly away from Anakin's throat. "Anakin, the Jedi fear what you have, the power within you. _Think_ about what you could do with that power, who you could save!"

 _Padm_ _é_ _._ Cold fear shivered down his spine. She was all he had left, her and their child. The Jedi...he owed them nothing, not now.

But would she understand, could she love him if he fell? Picturing her now, soft curls, fiery passion, her intense love, for both him and the Republic they served...doubt began to creep into his mind. Padmé, who fought for peace. Padmé, who's purity and conviction burned through her every action. Padmé, who was _good_.

"Anakin, with this power, you can do so much more." The voice before him seemed to slither into his brain, his thoughts unable to gather purchase. "The Jedi never cared for you," Sidious spit maliciously, his face evil in the flickering light. "They only ever used you."

Clarity suddenly materialized into icy awareness. How could this monster before him talk of manipulation? Thousands upon thousands of beings no longer lived because of this man's tyrannical lust for power. Day after day he had seen homes destroyed, planets ruined, lives taken before their time. Night after night he fell asleep to the sound of his men repeating the names of those lost in the Remembrance.

Time after time he found himself staring into the empty space next to him where Obi-Wan used to stand.

"Used me?" He exhaled shakily, his fingers sinking into the thick carpet as a scoff fell from his lips. "You're the one who used me, used us all! The Jedi, the clones, the Senate. The Jedi aren't to blame, it's _you_."

Something glinted in Sidious' eye. "If you won't join me, then you are my enemy."

Thrusting out his chin, Anakin matched his stare. "That," he said, "is something I am proud to be."

Desperately he flung out his hand, his fingers straining for the solid feeling of cold metal and alloy. Responding to his call like an age old lover, the hilt slipped into his hand the very second the blood red blade flew toward his heart. He shifted imperceptibly to the right, the red blade intended for his heart meeting his blue blade with a glancing blow.

No inch of the room remained unscathed as the two men continued their battle for dominance. The external destruction mirrored the internal as both men pulled on the Dark Side to fuel their rage. It was not the age-old battle between good and bad. This was a fight between two warring hatreds. A war of evils. The light that had once burned in Anakin had faded behind walls of pain and rage, his Force signature so tainted now with dark that each combatant could hardly be distinguished from the other.

Where before experience won over strength, in this battle of endurance, youth won over age. Anakin could see his opponent tiring, his blows fueled less by strength and more by pure willpower. He waited, swinging his own blows harder and faster, watching for a mistake.

Transparisteel shattered as the two men fought by the enormous windows overlooking the darkening Coruscant cityscape. Wind whipped around the two men, whirling and slashing robes in a frenzy that matched their blows. At last the Sith found himself backed against the open air, a bottomless pit of dark city behind him. Anakin pounced on his chance. Pressing his advantage, striking out with all his might, the tip of his blade found the hilt of his enemy's. Even as the broken hilt began it's fall, Anakin's boot found the Sith Lord's chest, knocking him hard against the metal window framing.

Stomping down, he ground his heel into the small, delicate bones of the Sith's saber hand. The sound of breaking bone seemed to echo through the room, even as Sidious grit his teeth and refused to make a sound.

Chest heaving with more than just exertion, Anakin held his blade at the Sith's throat, a stunning reversal of just moments before. It was time. He would end this. Palpatine _deserved_ to die for his crimes.

"Yes," Sidious' face no longer wore the grandfatherly visage he so often presented to the world. His true nature emerged and with it the ravages of hate and evil coiled their way across his countenance. "Do it. Do it, and you are just like me."

The words seemed to leach into his mind and stab a dagger into his heart. Anakin froze. They echoed around and through his mind.

Just like _him?_ Like the one who took everything? The world seemed to lose focus for a moment, his mind lost in confusion. What was he _doing?_

 _Anakin._

His heart stopped. Not now, not now. He seemed to hear something, but how could he hear a voice that wasn't there?

A wash of emotions suddenly surged through his being. He staggered, bottled-up memories echoed through his mind.

 _Promise me you'll stay in the light_.

 _Promise me._

 _Promise…_

 _I promise._

"I promised," the words seemed to issue from the very depths of his soul.

His master had died with his name on his lips and the hope of the prophecy in his heart. Oh, the _weight_ of that duty pulled him down. He couldn't join the Sith, he couldn't be just like them. Not now, not after what Obi-Wan did for him. It was his destiny, to bring balance, to serve justice for those who died, to honor those he loved.

"What am I doing?" he gasped, his voice a tangle of torment.

He could see how close he was coming, standing on the edge of a precipice, one foot already in midair. To take that step would negate all that made him Anakin Skywalker: the warmth of his mother, the teachings of his master, the love of his wife. To succumb to the enticing dark the seething beast of revenge would in the end destroy them all.

This cycle of revenge, he needed to end it. He would never stop if he continued this way. Justice—justice offered closure, an end to the circuitous devouring depths toward which he spiraled.

But forgiveness, mercy, these were things he didn't want to understand and could not offer. To understand them meant to recognize his failure in giving them, to make a conscious choice to withhold them. How could he forgive, how could he offer _mercy_ to one who took everything?

But the opposites . . . revenge and cruelty, what did they offer? At best they offered a miscarriage of justice. And at worse, they offered destruction for his soul. For to obtain revenge, the damage would not just be done to the Sith, but to himself as well. They were not the Jedi way . . . but even further, they would not be what Obi-Wan wanted.

He stared in confusion down at the flickering weapon in his hands, _Obi-Wan's blade_ , a symbol of hope or devastation. He recalled the promises he made; to Obi-Wan, to Padmé. He had a duty to them, but it was more than that. It was love that bound them to him, that bound him to the light. His love for his wife and their unborn child: her passion, her beauty, her smile, her commitment to justice. And his love for his master, the memories he had of him: his goodness, his fierce compassion, his laugh, his devotion to the Jedi, but mostly his devotion to Anakin.

To fall would be simple, easy, an escape from this painful reality. But to fall would not merely destroy him, it would destroy them all.

But to stay in the light, oh, the weight of responsibility, of commitment, of promises made. It meant pain, sorrow, following a legacy of strength he didn't know if he could live up to.

But it also meant love. The love of his wife. The love of his unborn child. The memory of his friend and master. Those memories, treasured deep in his heart now, would become tarnished glass if he fell, a foul taste in his mouth, a twisted reflection of the past.

"Do it," Sidious hissed again from his position on the ground. "Keep me alive and I will destroy you and everything you love. Kill me in revenge and you prove you belong to the Dark Side. Either way, I _win_."

Starting as if waking up from a horrible dream, Anakin finally turned his eyes to the man in front of his burning lightsaber. "You're wrong." An inexplicable calm and peace flooded over him as he straightened his shoulders. "I finally understand now," he breathed an incredulous laugh, his voice curiously introspective. He could almost kick himself for how blatantly obvious it was.

"Killing out of hate is wrong. Understanding the line between justice and revenge: that is what distinguishes Jedi and the Sith," This, _this_ is what the Jedi, Obi-Wan, Padme, had been trying to tell him this all along. All his life he had fought and ignored them, but in light of his own personal betrayal it suddenly made sense.

For once, the Sith seemed to be struck dumb. " _Justice?_ " he snarled. "After everything that has happened to you? After how you have been treated by the Jedi? After your Master being killed? How is that what you want?" His anger warred with bafflement. "What is stronger than hate?"

The feeling of calm within Anakin gave way slightly to pity. This man before him…what had his life been like to turn him into the monster he was?

"What is stronger than hate?" he returned, "Loyalty, hope, love…" His voice broke on the last word, but he straightened his shoulders. "Things you would never understand."

Turning away to grasp his commlink almost killed him, the dragon within clambered to be released. But as he brought the comm up to his lips, keying in Master Windu's code, the weight he had been bearing on his shoulders seemed to tumble off.

He had been trying to hold the scales of life and death in his hands, decide who lived and who died. His self-appointed role of judge, jury and executioner couldn't help but take its toll as he staggered under its weight. But now— _now_ he understood. It was never his role in the first place. And that is what his wife meant. _It's not about killing or saving them, it's about saving yourself._

"Skywalker?" Mace Windu's hologram flickered in Anakin's hand. "Do you have something to report?"

Opening his mouth to respond, Anakin never got a chance to say what he was going to say.

"No!" His face a mask of pure hatred, Sidious snarled as he hurled lighting from the fingers of his working hand. Anakin grunted as he caught the lightning with Obi-Wan's lightsaber. The commlink skittered from his hand as he put his full weight into holding back the pulsating electrical charge millimeters from his heart.

The vicious attack was unlike anything Anakin had experienced before. It seemed to have a life of its own, the crackling static matching the noise issuing from Sidious' mouth.

Gritting his teeth, Anakin sank to his knees against the onslaught. The electricity surged into the lightsaber. It seemed to grow brighter and brighter, the two flickering blues blending together. The heat built up in the air, and Anakin bit back a groan as the hilt began to smolder in his hands.

He knew the lightsaber couldn't last much longer. And he couldn't. . . he knew his fate was sealed if the licking tongues of heat hit his heart. But his energy was dwindling, he had already spent all he had . . . and he couldn't use the Dark, not now. He could not let himself become what he destroyed.

He refused.

Impossibly, he reached down into himself, through the pits of darkness and wells of fear. He went deeper than he had ever gone, straining every fiber of his being, searching, searching . . .

 _There_. That glowing ember, the tiny flame of all that was good and whole and right. He had always drowned it with anger, hidden it away under mountains of fear and bitterness, locked it away behind doors of pride.

But as the first hungry tendrils of electricity danced across his skin, he reached out and set it free.

A cry exploded from within him, the exertion seeming to tear his soul from his body. He thought he knew power, but this was different. The all-consuming, uncontrollable feeling of the Dark was replaced with something so much more. It wasn't a controlling power, it was harmony, a complete unity within him, a pure synthesis ofhimself and the Force **.**

Throwing up his hands, he caught the lightning in his palms, stopping it from its intended destination.

Shock blazoned equally across the faces of Anakin and Sidious.

The light seemed to flow _into_ him, a bright, burning aura in the Force. The crackling energy seemed to float in Anakin's hands, cradled there as if it were a child. The Sith cried out, turning his face away from the blazing unity of the Living Force and Anakin before him.

The light grew, gathering intensity. The moment seemed to halt, a stand off between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. But the newfound power in Anakin grew just like the light in his hand. Sound seemed to stop, and then Anakin hurtled the lightning back toward the Sith. The light flew straight and true, the immense power exploding on impact. It propelled Sidious into the air, slamming his body forcefully into the wall. A small groan escaped his lips as his broken body slid to the floor.

The Sith tried to shuffle away as Anakin paced slowly up to him. Pausing, he leaned down and scooped Obi-Wan's lightsaber off the floor from where it had fallen.

"You...you can't kill _me,"_ he was hissing now, all vestiges of elegant politician gone. "The Dark Side is in you, boy." The Sith's lips were pulled back from his teeth, his visage a leering skull. "You'll never be free."

"Maybe not, but the galaxy will be free from _you._ "

A flick of his wrist, and the Sith's head toppled from his shoulders. The sudden shift in the Force left Anakin reeling. He blinked. The world felt as if a vale had been lifted off, as if grey clouds that had covered the sun had finally broken.

It was done.

The lightsaber dropped from his numb fingers as his knees collapsed beneath him. He had done it. He had killed the Sith Lord, he had won the war and fulfilled his destiny. He had brought balance to the Force.

He waited for something, a feeling, _anything_ to be different.

But he was alone.

Then, a breath of light, memories of copper hair and wry laughter. A fluttering sensation and the slightest trace of a presence oh so familiar.

 _Well done_ , _my Padawan._

Feeling as though he would choke, throat filling and lungs faltering, Anakin gasped as he held out his trembling hands. He was too raw, his emotions too close, and the hope too _too_ good to be true. He wanted to say everything and nothing, all his thoughts and feelings shimmering in the air.

 _I thought you left me,_ instead the desperate accusation flew into the air.

Suddenly the feeling seemed to surround him, envelop him, weave around and through him. Love so profound and deep penetrated his soul, filling the broken cracks within him.

 _Oh Anakin. Never. I will always be with you_.

The ache grew in his throat and heart until a tear slipped down his cheek.

He wasn't alone.

* * *

Thank you to all who have kept up with this story and commented and favorited! You are the best. There will be an epilogue, (which is half written, I promise!) so don't quite go away.


	14. Chapter 14

" _All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems . . . But all these stars are silent. You-You alone will have stars as no one else has them . . . In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And_ _so_ _it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look at the sky at night. You, only you, will have stars that can laugh! And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me . . . You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure . . . It will be as if, in place of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells that knew how to laugh"_

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

A figure stands alone in a field. His face still holds a youthful vigor, but it has been marked by trials. The war had been over for many years now, but these scars lasted for much longer. The warm wind wafts and ruffles through his shoulder-length hair. Sorrow has marked this man, but also acceptance.

And the stars, oh the stars. The brilliant pinpricks of light shining down on all who looked up. Always giving, never taking, the forget-me-nots of angels.

The figure stands still, head tilted toward the sky. The place is beautiful, almost heavenly. The hushed sound of falling water floats in the warm breeze as all around the glowing trails of fireflies twinkle in the grass. The hush in the air is almost reverent as the man reaches out a hand to touch a trailing line of light. A small smile flickers across his face.

"I know you would like this place, Master," Anakin says softly.

The chirping of insects and the laughter of the breeze are the only audible responses to these words. Slowly, deliberately, Anakin settles to the ground. The smell of the damp earth fills his nose. Still gazing into the emptiness surrounding him, Anakin's eyes turn introspective, thoughtful.

"The twins are much bigger now," he says suddenly into the empty air. He chuckles, thinking of the handful that both boisterous children could be even for his vivacious wife. "I think Luke will be a great Jedi in the future. He is learning more every day." As he talks, something loosens inside of him and the words just seem to flow.

"And Leia," he chuckles again, thinking of his spirited daughter, "I'm sure you would be pleased to see how well she already understands the art of politics," a hint of dryness colors his voice. "She could negotiate her way out of a Sarlacc's stomach."

Abruptly he stops, the air around him turning melancholy. "In many ways, she reminds me of you." Suddenly his throat closes, the familiar ache setting in low as he feels tears gathering on his lashes.

"Oh kriff," he whispers, his voice gravelly from unshed tears. "It's been seven years, and you think I wouldn't care anymore, but I do." He dashes his hand across his eyes, leaving a smudge of fresh dirt on his face. "I think I'll miss you forever, like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky."

It had been seven years since that day, and almost six since the ending of the war. Even now, some days Anakin could hardly believe he no longer was in a war zone. But the war was over, and so much had changed.

 _The news of the death of the Republic's leader and Chancellor shocked the galaxy, but not as much as the revelation that he had been a_ _Sith_ _all along. The Republic and the Separatists were thrown into chaos, both losing their leader the same day. With Dooku and Sidious both gone, the remaining Separatist generals quickly surrendered to the Republic and the interim Chancellor._

 _The instant Anakin defeated Sidious was as if a fog had lifted from the Force. Even before Anakin's shaky, reserved call to the council to inform them of what he had done, every Jedi on Coruscant knew. The prophesy had been fulfilled._

 _It was a different Anakin that stood before the council several days later, but he stood before a different council as well. The Jedi were reeling to realize how deeply they had been deceived and how easily they had been manipulated. Their roles had been to be the keepers of the peace, but they had allowed themselves to be pulled into a war—one that had been orchestrated by their darkest enemy and had almost destroyed the Order and the Republic they served. They had never been so wrong, and for so long._

" _Anakin," Master_ _Windu's_ _voice reverberated around the chamber. "For so long you have lived under the weight of the Prophesy. And now, you have fulfilled your destiny." His level voice reveled none of what he was feeling, but his eyes spoke volumes._

" _Proud, Master Kenobi would be," Yoda voiced softly, "and proud, we are, to call you a Jedi."_

 _Only a few months ago Anakin would have swelled up at hearing those words, words he felt he earned, felt he deserved. Yet everything was different now, and he knew he could no longer live in his lie._

 _He bowed deeply to the council members. He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat, a thin sheen of sweat coating his palms._

" _Masters," he began and stopped, swallowing the fear rising up in him. He closed his eyes and pictured_ _Padmé_ _and their children and began again._

" _Masters, I need to inform you of something. I have broken the Jedi Code." He ignored the subtle glances around the room and the slight shifting in the chairs. He refused to hide who he was any longer. "I am married to_ _Padmé_ _Amidala."_

 _The little stunned waves of emotions slapped against him as all the council members tried to absorb what he said. He plowed forward before a word could be said._

" _I am telling this to you not to ask for leniency, but to instead inform you that because I have fulfilled my destiny as the Chosen One, I am now resigning from being a Jedi." He stood taller and gazed around the room. "Because I cannot be a Jedi and love my family, I am choosing what is most important to me, love."_

 _If the situation had not been so serious, Anakin probably would have laughed at the look on Master_ _Windu's_ _face._

 _Yoda's gravelly voice broke the silence. "Does this mean, Young Skywalker, that if allowed you were to love and be a Jedi, stay a Jedi, you would?"_

 _Stunned, Anakin could only stare at the little green Master. "I'm not...I mean...isn't that against the Code?" he responded stupidly._

" _Perhaps wrong, we are, about the Code. Proven, these events have, that we Jedi are not always right." Yoda's eyes_ _gazed_ _deep into Anakin's soul. "Stronger, your love has made you. And that strength, we need it now."_

 _After that, slowly, very slowly, the Jedi order began to change. It took a galaxy wide war and a Chancellor as a_ _Sith_ _to bring it about, but it was happening. The Jedi began to see the strength in attachment, in the power it can give to the people who have it. The Council asked Anakin to stay in the Jedi Order. After discussing with_ _Padmé_ _, he agreed to stay with her words ringing in his ears. "They are going to need your help if they are rewriting the Code...Force help us all!"_

 _In the years that followed,_ _Padmé_ _became the main advocate for the clones. Now that the Republic no longer needed their grand army, genetically grown soldiers became obsolete. She worked tirelessly to find a place for each and every one. Anakin still kept in contact with Rex and Cody who had gone on to open, of all things, a bar they simply called Brothers._

 _The day the twins were born was one of the best days of Anakin's and_ _Padmé's_ _life. The twins were perfect, beautiful, and to Anakin, a symbol of hope for the future. Both children were force-sensitive, yet both parents agreed to let the children's interests guide their paths in life. Before long it was clear Luke would follow in his father's footsteps, while Leia would follow in her mother's._

 _There were times Anakin could hardly believe how things had changed, how different the Order was becoming, and how fulfilling his life was. Missions, meetings, birthdays, and everything else that came with their lives as a Jedi and a Senator caused the days to fly by as months turned into years._

 _But as happy as he was, there was always that one painful regret, a deep sadness—that Obi-Wan would never be a part of this life. And as those months flew into years, there was always those sudden moments where time would just seem to...stop. Those moments where his heart would squeeze painfully in his chest and he would find it hard to breathe, or those moments where he inexplicably found himself forming a retort to a person who was no longer there._

The sudden shrill call of a bird jolts Anakin out of his reverie. His leggings are soaked through from the damp grass. The sun had long set and the shrilling of the insects grows louder in the dusk.

He swallows, once again rubbing a hand across his eyes. Those moments, they still come and go. But there is a beauty in pain, he knows that now. Oh, it never goes away. Time does not truly heal all wounds, but it does not let them fester. Instead, it covers them with a scar that still hurts when brushed up against, yet does not leave the person broken.

He is not alone; his master had not left him. Anakin sees him in the interim between the intakes of a breath, in the pause between the beat of a butterfly's wings, in the space between the falling droplets in a fountain's glistening cascade. He would never get over his absence, never forget him, never. But he could begin to remember without pain. He could smile at a memory instead of shuddering under the weight of it.

A tear slips down his face, glistening like a reflection of the stars above.

If someone had been watching, they might have seen a slight shimmer, the smallest glimpse of a ghostly hand caressing his cheek.

As if waking from a dream, Anakin shivers slightly and rises to his feet. He sighs, looking around once more at the deepening dark.

He speaks up suddenly. "I don't know if I ever told you, Master, but I love you. Did I tell you? Because I do." Tilting his face toward the sky, he breathes in, waiting.

 _I know._

Breathing out, the smile flickers again.

"Good bye, for now."

Gone, but not forgotten. He would remember his friend until his dying day. Always and forever.

Then straightening his shoulders, he turns and strides back to his ship.

In the middle of the grassy field, resting on a small stone, a silver and black lightsaber glints in the starlight and the retreating lights.


End file.
